THE UNSPEAKABLE GENTLEMAN
"As you will, sir," I said. 'We all make our mistakes."
He raised his eyebrows in polite surprise, and his hand in a gesture of protest.
"Our mistakes? Was I not right in believing you had a competent instructor? I begin to fear your education is deficient. Surely you have agility and courage. Why a mistake, my son?"
"The mistake," I replied, "was in the beginning and not in the end. I made the error in believing he told an untruth."
"Indeed?" said my father. "Thank you, Brutus, I have had wine enough for the evening. Do you not consider your error—how shall we put it—quite inexcusable in view of the other things you have doubtless heard?"
But I could only stare dumbly at him across the table.
"Come, come," he continued. "How goes the gossip now? Surely there is more about me. Surely you have heard"—he paused to drain the dregs in his glass—"the rest?"
I eyed him for a moment in silence before I answered, but he met my glance fairly, indulging apparently in the same curiosity, half idle, half cynical, that he might have
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