“Oh, no,” said Frank. “He’s in Schlangenbad.”
“Of course, of course. By the way, your father’s pretty intimate with Torrington, isn’t he? The Secretary of State for War.”
“My father’s under-secretary of the War Office,” said Frank.
“Now, what sort of a man is Torrington? He’s a distant cousin of mine. My great aunt was his grandmother or something of that sort. But I only met him once, years ago. Apart from politics now, I don’t profess to admire his politics—I never did. How men like your father and Torrington can mix themselves up with that damned socialist crew—But apart from politics, what sort of a man is Torrington?”
“I never saw him,” said Frank. “I’ve been at school, you know, Uncle Lucius.”
“Quite so, quite so. But your father now. Your father must know him intimately. I know he’s rich, immensely rich. American mother, American wife, dollars to burn, which makes it all the harder to understand his politics. But his private life—what does your father think of him?
“Last time father stopped there,” said Frank, “he was called in the morning by a footman who asked him whether he’d have tea, coffee or chocolate. Father said tea. ‘Assam, Oolong, or Sooching, sir,’ said the footman, ‘or do you prefer your tea with a flavour of Orange Pekoe?’”
“By gad!” said Sir Lucius.
“That’s the only story I’ve ever heard father tell about him,” said Frank, “but they say——”
“That he has the devil of a temper.” said Sir Lucius, “and rides roughshod over every one? I’ve been told that.”