II

Mark woke next morning with the feeling that there would certainly be one fence and perhaps two fences for him to get over during the day. The first was his interview with the Deputy Director. Unless he could get a very definite assurance about a post and a salary, he would cut his connection with the Institute. And then, when he reached home, the second fence would be his explanation to Jane of how the whole dream had faded away.

The first real fog of the autumn had descended on Belbury that morning. Mark ate his breakfast by artificial light, and neither post nor newspaper had arrived. It was a Friday and a servant handed him his bill for the portion of a week which he had already spent in the Institute. He put it in his pocket after a hasty glance with a resolution that this, at any rate, should never be mentioned to Jane. Neither the total nor the items were of the sort that wives easily understand. He himself doubted whether there were not some mistake, but he was still at that age when a man would rather be fleeced to his last penny than dispute a bill. Then he finished his second cup of tea, felt for cigarettes, found none, and ordered a new packet.

The odd half hour which he had to wait before keeping his appointment with the Deputy Director passed slowly. No one spoke to him. Everyone else seemed to be hasting away on some important and well-defined purpose. For part of the time he was alone in the lounge and felt that the servants looked at him as if he ought not to be there. He was glad when he was able to go upstairs and knock on Wither’s door.

He was admitted at once, but the conversation was not easy to begin because Wither said nothing, and though he looked up as soon as Mark entered, with an expression of dreamy courtesy, he did not look exactly at Mark, nor did he ask him to sit down. The room, as usual, was extremely hot, and Mark, divided between his desire to make it clear that he had fully resolved to be left hanging about no longer and his equally keen desire not to lose the job if there were any real job going, did not perhaps speak very well. At all events the Deputy Director left him to run down-to pass into disjointed repetitions and thence into complete silence. That silence lasted for some time. Wither sat with his lips pouted and slightly open as though he were humming a tune.

“So I think, sir, I’d better go,” said Mark at last, with vague reference to what he had been saying.

“You are Mr. Studdock I think?” said Wither tentatively after another prolonged silence.

“Yes,” said Mark impatiently. “I called on you with Lord Feverstone a few days ago. You gave me to understand that you were offering me a position on the sociological side of the N.I.C.E. But as I was saying”

“One moment, Mr. Studdock,” interrupted the Deputy Director. “It is so important to be perfectly clear what we are doing. You are no doubt aware that in certain senses of the words it would be most unfortunate to speak of my offering anyone a post in the Institute. You must not imagine for a moment that I hold any kind of autocratic position, nor, on the other hand, that the relation between my own sphere of influence and the powers-I am speaking of their temporary powers, you understand-of the permanent committee or those of the Director himself are defined by any hard and fast system of what-er-one might call a constitutional, or even a constitutive, character. For example”

“Then, sir, can you tell me whether anyone has offered me a post, and, if so, who?”

“Oh,” said Wither suddenly, changing both his position and his tone as if a new idea had struck him.

“There has never been the least question of that sort. It was always understood that our co-operation with the Institute would be entirely acceptable-would be of the greatest value.”

“Well, can I-I mean, oughtn’t we to discuss the details? I mean the salary for example and who should I be working under . . .”

“My dear friend,” said Wither with a smile, “I do not anticipate that there will be any difficulty about the-er-the financial side of the matter. As for

“What would the salary be, sir?” said Mark.

“Well, there you touch on a point which it is hardly for me to decide. I believe that members in the position which we had envisaged you as occupying usually draw some sum like fifteen hundred a year, allowing for fluctuations calculated on a very liberal basis. You will find that all questions of that sort will adjust themselves with the greatest ease.”

“But when should I know, sir? Who ought I to go to about it?”

“You mustn’t suppose, Mr. Studdock, that when I mention fifteen hundred I am at all excluding the possibility of some higher figure. I don’t think any of us here would allow a disagreement on that point . . .”

“I should be perfectly satisfied with fifteen hundred, “said Mark. “I wasn’t thinking of that at all. But-but “the Deputy Director’s expression became more and more courtly and confidential as Mark stammered, so that when he finally blurred out, “I suppose there’d be a contract or something of the kind,” he felt he had committed an unutterable vulgarity.

“Well,” said the Deputy Director, fixing his eyes on the ceiling and sinking his voice to a whisper as though he too were profoundly embarrassed, “that is not exactly the sort of procedure . . . it would, no doubt, be possible . . .”

“And that isn’t the main point, sir,” said Mark reddening. “There’s the question of my status. Am I to work under Mr. Steele?”

“I have here a form,” said Wither, opening a drawer, “which has not, I believe, been ever actually used but which was designed for such agreements. You might care to study it at your leisure and if you are satisfied we could sign it at any time.”

“But about Mr. Steele?”

At that moment a secretary entered and placed some letters on the Deputy Director’s table.

“Ah! The post at last!” said Wither. “Perhaps, Mr. Studdock, er-you will have letters of your own to attend to. You are, I believe, married?” A smile of fatherly indulgence overspread his face as he said these words.

“I’m sorry to delay you, sir,” said Mark, “but about Mr. Steele? There is no good my looking at the form of agreement until that question is settled. I should feel compelled to refuse any position which involved working under Mr. Steele.”

“That opens up a very interesting question about which I should like to have a quite informal and confidential chat with you on some future occasion,” said Wither.

“For the moment, Mr. Studdock, I shall not regard anything you have said as final. If you care to call on me to-morrow . . .” He became absorbed in the letter he had opened, and Mark, feeling that he had achieved enough for one interview, left the room. Apparently they did really want him at the N.I.C.E. and were prepared to pay a high price for him. He would fight it out about Steele later; meanwhile he would study the form of agreement.

He came downstairs again and found the following letter waiting for him.

BRACTON COLLEGE, EDGESTOW,

Oct. 20th, 19-

“My dear Mark,-We were all sorry to hear from Dick that you are resigning your Fellowship, but feel quite certain you’ve made the right decision as far as your own career is concerned. Once the N.I.C.E. is settled in here I shall expect to see almost as much of you as before. If you have not yet sent a formal resignation to N.O . . . I shouldn’t be in any hurry to do so. If you wrote early next term the vacancy would come up at the February meeting and we should have time to get ready a suitable candidate as your successor. Have you any ideas on the subject yourself? I was talking to James and Dick the other night about David Laird (James hadn’t heard of him before). No doubt you know his work: could you let me have a line about it, and about his more general qualifications? I may see him next week when I’m running over to Cambridge to dine with the Prime Minister and one or two others, and I think Dick might be induced to ask Laird as well. You’ll have heard that we had rather a shindy here the other night. There was apparently some sort of fracas between the new workmen and the local inhabitants. The N.I.C.E. police, who seem to be a nervy lot, made the mistake of firing a few rounds over the head of the crowd. We had the Henrietta Maria window smashed and several stones came into Common Room. Glossop lost his head and wanted to go out and harangue the mob, but I managed to quiet him down. This is in strict confidence. There are lots of people ready to make capital out of it here and to get up a hue and cry against us for selling the Wood. In haste-I must run off and make arrangements about Hingest’s funeral.