"No, sir. . . . You sent out an order asking commanders of units to ascertain what attempts were being made by Socialists to undermine the discipline of their other ranks. . . . I naturally asked my sergeant-major, and he produced this sheet, which one of the men had given to him as a curiosity. It had been handed to the man in the street in London. You can see my initials on the top of the sheet!"
The general said:
"You . . . you'll excuse me, but you're not a Socialist yourself? . . ."
Tietjens said:
"I knew you were working round to that, sir: But I've no politics that did not disappear in the eighteenth century. You, sir, prefer the seventeenth!"
"Another shower-bath, I suppose," the general said.
"Of course," Tietjens said, "if it's Sylvia that called me a Socialist, it's not astonishing. I'm a Tory of such an extinct type that she might take me for anything. The last megatherium. She's absolutely to be excused. . . ."
The general was not listening. He said:
"What was wrong with the way your father left his money to you? . . ."
"My father," Tietjens said—the general saw his jaw stiffen—"committed suicide because a fellow called Ruggles told him that I was . . . what the French called maquereau . . . I can't think of the English word. My father's suicide was not an act that can be condoned. A gentleman does not commit suicide when he has descendants. It might influence my boy's life very disastrously. . . ."