"My dear fellow, your father——"
The Guardsman's eyes flashed ominously, his jaws hardened.
"What do you know of my father?"
"Chancellor of the Empire, his Grace the Duke of Ulster, K.G., and a lot more twaddle."
"By the Almanac, yes, and head of the Gold Party which sits up to hate you all night. Come, speak out!"
"My dear fellow, I never met your father. In politics I like fighting him, and I think he likes fighting me. He would never speak evil of me as a private man."
"Or you of Ulster? Well, I can't blame your courtesy, Brand, I don't understand your politics. They say that you finance the Labour Party. You've been accused of Socialism."
Brand chuckled. "Have you heard about my eating babies?"
"Even a cannibal might love his country. Brand, I'm in horrible trouble, and I've come to you for help."
"You've come to me for help. Go on, old chap."