The old man shifted himself in his chair away from Basil’s scrutiny and began reading his book.
A page came in with the message: “No reply from either of those numbers, sir.”
“Don’t you hate London?”
“Eh?”
“Don’t you hate London?”
“No, I do not. Lived here all my life. Never get tired of it. Fellow who’s tired of London is tired of life.”
“Don’t you believe it,” said Basil.
“I’m going away for some time,” he told the hall-porter as he left the club.
“Very good, sir. What shall I do about correspondence.”
“Destroy it.”
“Very good, sir.” Mr. Seal was a puzzle to him. He never could forget Mr. Seal’s father. He had been a member of the club. Such a different gentleman. So spick and span, never without silk hat and an orchid in his buttonhole. Chief Conservative Whip for twenty-five years. Who would have thought of him having a son like Mr. Seal? Out of town until further notice. No letters forwarded he entered against Basil’s name in his ledger. Presently the old gentleman emerged from the smoking room.
“Arthur, is that young man a member here?”
“Mr. Seal, sir? Oh, yes, sir.”
“What d’you say his name is?’
“Mr. Basil Seal.”
“Basil Seal, eh. Basil Seal. Not Christopher Seal’s son?”
“Yes, sir.”
Is he now? Poor old Seal. Ton my soul, what a sad thing. Who’d have thought of that? Seal of all people…” and he shuffled back into the smoking room, to the fire and his muffins, full of the comfort that glows in the hearts of old men when they con-template the misfortunes of their contemporaries.
Basil walked across Piccadilly and up to Curzon Street. Lady Metroland was giving a cocktail party.
“Basil,” she said, “you had no business to come. I particularly didn’t ask you.”
“I know. I only heard you had a party quite in-directly. What I’ve really come for is to see if my sister is here.”
“Barbara? She may be. She said she was coming. How horrible you look.”
“Dirty?”
“Yes.”
“Not shaven?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ve only just woken up. I haven’t been home yet.” He looked round the room. “All the same people. You don’t make many new friends, Margot.”
“I hear you’ve given up your constituency?”
“Yes, in a way. It wasn’t worth while. I told the P. M. I wasn’t prepared to fight on the tariff issue. He had a chance to hold over the bill but the Outrage section were too strong so I threw in my hand. Besides I want to go abroad. I’ve been in England too long.”
“Cocktail, sir?”
“No, bring me a Pernod and water, will you… there isn’t any? Oh, well, whiskey. Bring it into the study. I want to go and telephone. I’ll be back soon. M argot.”
“God, what I feel about that young man,” said Lady Metroland.
Two girls were talking about him.
“Such a lovely person.’
“Where?”
“Just gone out.”
“You don’t mean Basil Seal?”
“Do I?”
“Horrible clothes, black hair over his face.”
“Yes, tell me about him.”
“My dear, he’s enchanting… Barbara Sothill’s brother, you know. He’s been in hot water lately. He’d been adopted as candidate somewhere in the North. Father says he was bound to get in at the next election. Angela Lyne was paying his expenses. But they had trouble over something. You know how careful Angela is. I never thought Basil was really her tea. They never quite made sense I mean, did they? So that’s all over.”
“It’s nice his being so dirty.”
Other people discussed him.
