Claude was still smoothing his gloves, but he stopped, with the thumb and fingers of his right hand grasping the middle finger of the left. More than ever his features suggested a marble stoniness. "No."
"Oh, but you must. Used to be Grandpa Thorley's gardener. Has the greenhouses on father's land north of the pond."
Claude recovered himself slightly. "Well, what about him?"
"Been to see his wife. Patient of Uncle Sim's. Turned her on to me. They're having the deuce of a time."
Claude recovered himself still more. He looked at his brother curiously. "Well, what's it got to do with me?"
"Nothing directly."
"Well, then—indirectly?" Claude asked, defiantly.
"Only this, that it has to do with both of us, since it concerns father."
Claude was by this time master of himself. "Look here, Thor. Are you getting a bee in your bonnet about father?"
"Good Lord! no. But father's immersed in business. He can't be expected to know how all the details of his policy work out. He's not young any longer, and he isn't in touch with modern social and economic ideas."