"Two, I believe."
"Boys?"
"Yes, both."
The father took a cigar leisurely from his case, cut it and began to smoke.
"I'd have liked a large family," he said quietly.
The son raised his eyes of a hunted hare.
"I know, father," he stuttered. "I'm afraid I've been a great dud—disappointment to you."
"Stop it!" grunted the other. "Or I'll go into the kitchen." He puffed away, lost in his reflections. "It was your mother," he went on. "She couldn't stand the racket. That sort can't. The English aristocracy breed in and in too much. That's why they always fail. No red blood in em." He added, after a pause, "You almost killed her; and you were only a five-pounder when you were born...."
Before he left Mr. Caspar did go into the kitchen alone.
"I'm going to give that woman half-a-sovereign," he explained. "She gave me a decent luncheon."