That was putting it too strongly; but it is a fact that I do not know, or particularly want to know, any of Gorman’s political associates.
“And your friends,” said Gorman, “wouldn’t know me.”
Again Gorman was guilty of over-statement; but my friends are, for the most part, of conservative and slightly military tastes. They would not get on well with Gorman.
“I’ll think it over,” said Gorman, “and let you know.”
Two days later I got my invitation. Gorman, in the excitement of sudden great possessions, had devised an expensive kind of party. The invited guests were Mr. and Mrs. Ascher, Miss Gibson, Tim and myself. We were to voyage off from Southampton in a motor yacht, hired by Gorman, to see the Naval Review at Spithead. We were to start at ten o’clock from Waterloo station in a saloon carriage reserved for our party.
“We have to be back in time for Miss Gibson to go to the theatre,” Gorman wrote, “so we must start early. I believe the show is to be worth seeing. British Navy at its best. King there. Royal salutes from Dreadnoughts. Rank, fashion and beauty in abundance.”
The week was to be one of exciting festivities. Gorman had fixed his party for the day before my exhibition of Tim’s new invention.
I was shaving—shortly after eight o’clock on the morning of Gorman’s party—when my servant came into my room.
“I beg pardon, sir,” he said, “but there’s a young man waiting in the hall, says that he wants to see you.”
It seemed odd that any one should want to see me at that hour.