When you say "Tobias" that is what most intelligent people will
recall. Perhaps you will remember how gaily and confidently the
young man strides along with the armoured angel by his side.
Absurdly enough, Benham and his dream of high aristocracy reminded
White of that. . . .
"We have all been Tobias in our time," said White.
If White had been writing this chapter he would have in all
probability called it THE TOBIAS STAGE, forgetful that there was no
Tobit behind Benham and an entirely different Sara in front of him.
2
From Cambridge Benham came to London. For the first time he was to
live in London. Never before had he been in London for more than a
few days at a time. But now, guided by his mother's advice, he was
to have a flat in Finacue street, just round the corner from
Desborough Street, a flat very completely and delightfully furnished
under her supervision. It had an admirable study, in which she had
arranged not only his books, but a number of others in beautiful old
leather bindings that it had amused her extremely to buy; it had a
splendid bureau and business-like letter-filing cabinets, a neat
little drawing-room and a dining-room, well-placed abundant electric
lights, and a man called Merkle whom she had selected very carefully
and who she felt would not only see to Benham's comfort but keep
him, if necessary, up to the mark.
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