That night Ruskin asked my father whether he liked tea or coffee before he got up.
“A cup of tea,” he replied.
“Why don’t you choose coffee?”
“Well, to tell the truth, I have lived so much abroad that I don’t fancy English coffee, it is generally so badly made.”
His host said nothing. The next morning my father was awakened and a strong smell of coffee permeated the room, and turning to the servant, he asked, “Is that my cup of tea?”
“No, sir, it is Mr. Ruskin’s coffee.”
“Mr. Ruskin’s coffee! What do you mean?”
“The master was up early, he roasted the coffee himself, he ground the coffee himself, and he made the coffee himself, and he hopes you will like it.”
So much for Ruskin....
During the course of the day it slipped out that my mother was at the hotel. Ruskin was furious.