THE NEW CONDITIONS
where there were titles, where people dressed for dinner, drank wine at meals, wine costing very often as much as three and sixpence the bottle, and followed through a maze of etiquette the most stupendous practices. . . .
Coote sat back in the arm-chair smoking luxuriously and expanding pleasantly, with the delightful sense of Savoir Faire; Kipps sat forward, his elbows on his chair arm, alert, and his head a little on one side. You figure him as looking little and cheap and feeling smaller and cheaper amidst his new surroundings. But it was a most stimulating and interesting conversation. And soon it became less general and more serious and intimate. Coote spoke of people who had got on and of people who hadn't, of people who seemed to be in everything and people who seemed to be out of everything, and then he came round to Kipps.
"You'll have a good time," he said abruptly, with a smile that would have interested a dentist.
"I dunno," said Kipps.
"There's mistakes, of course."
"That's jest it."
Coote lit a new cigarette. "One can't help being interested in what you will do," he remarked. "Of course—for a young man of spirit, come suddenly into wealth—there's temptations."
"I got to go careful," said Kipps. "O' Bean told me that at the very first."
Coote went on to speak of pitfalls, of Betting, of Bad Companions. "I know," said Kipps, "I know." "There's Doubt again," said Coote. "I know a young fellow—a solicitor—handsome, gifted. And
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