He ran upstairs to the drawing-room, where his mother was alone, writing.
"If I may interrupt," he said. "Thank you. One moment. Mother, I've had a most remarkable visit."
"Who is your visitor?"
"I wonder why they ever invented America," he said. "I wonder why we tolerate Americans—rich Americans—who have been English mechanics. Why do we admit them into our houses?"
"It is a mistake. But it is useless to protest. Why do you ask?"
"My visitor was a man who came last from America, where he has made a great fortune—robbed the people by the thousand, I suppose—a man named Haveril."
"Haveril!"
"I met the man the other night at Sir Robert Steele's."
"Vulgar, of course."
"Not so vulgar as ignorant—say, common. He told me he was a gardener's boy originally. Seemed to think it was a meritorious thing."