The second element in his comfort, his love of intrigue, would be
satisfied here simply because everything was not, as yet, as he would have
it. He would have hated to have tumbled into the place and found it just
as he required it.

He liked to have things to move, to adjust, to arrange, just as when he
entered a room he always, if he had the power, at once altered the chairs,
the cushions. It was towards this final adjustment that his power of
intrigue always worked. Once everything was adjusted he sank back
luxuriously and surveyed it--and then, in all probability, was quickly
tired of it and looked for new fields to conquer.

He could not remember a time when he had not been impelled to alter things
for his comfort. He did not wish to be selfish about this, he was quite
willing for every one else to do the same--indeed, he watched them with
geniality and wondered why on earth they didn't. As a small boy at Harrow
he had, with an imperturbable smile and a sense of humour that, in spite
of his rotund youth and a general sense amongst his elders that he was
"cheeky," won him popularity, worked always for his own comfort.

He secured it and, first as fag and afterwards as House-prefect, finally
as School-prefect, did exactly what he wanted with everybody.

He did it by being, quite frankly, all things to all men, although never
with sycophancy nor apparent falseness. He amused the bored, was
confidential with the wicked, upright with the upright, and sympathetic
with the unfortunate.

He was quite genuine in all these things. He was deeply interested in