Sir Bartholomew came on Gorman in the smoking-room of the House of Commons. He was wearing, so Gorman assures me, the very best kind of official manner, that interesting mixture of suavity and pomposity with which our mandarins approach the public. They hope, in this way, to induce us to believe that they have benevolent dispositions and immense ability. I do not know whether any one is ever deceived by this manner or thinks of a mandarin otherwise than as a fortunate person who earns a large salary by being stupid. Certainly Gorman was not in the very least impressed. Being an Irishman, Gorman knows the official class thoroughly. Ireland is a kind of laboratory for the culture of the mandarin bacillus.
“May I,” said Sir Bartholomew, “intrude on your time, and ask you one or two questions on a matter of some little importance?”
Gorman had no objection to being asked questions. Whether he would answer them or not was another matter.
“I think,” said Sir Bartholomew, “that you know King Konrad Karl of Megalia.”
That was not a question, so Gorman gave no answer. He merely puffed at his pipe which was not drawing well and looked at Sir Bartholomew’s round plump face.
“A rather wild young man,” said Sir Bartholomew. “Dissipated would perhaps be too strong a word. What do you think?”
“It is a strongish word,” said Gorman.
Sir Bartholomew tried another cast.
“Mr. Donovan is a friend of yours, I think,” he said, “and his daughter?”
“I’ve met them,” said Gorman.