my arrival rang up Ferdy.
'I'm sorry, but George isn't able to come to lunch on Wednesday.'
'What about Friday?'
'Friday's no good either.' I thought it useless to beat about the bush. 'The fact is, his people aren't keen on his lunching with you.'
There was a moment's silence. Then: 'I see. Well, will you come on Wednesday anyway?'
'Yes, I'd like to,' I answered.
So on Wednesday at half past one I strolled round to Curzon Street. Ferdy received me with the somewhat elaborate graciousness that he cultivated. He made no reference to the Blands. We sat in the drawing-room and I could not help reflecting what an eye for beautiful objects that family had. The room was more crowded than the fashion of today approves, and the gold snuff-boxes in vitrines, the French china, appealed to a taste that was not mine; but they were no doubt choice pieces; and the Louis XV suite, with its beautiful petit point, must have been worth an enormous lot of money. The pictures on the walls by Lancret, Pater, and Watteau did not greatly interest me, but I recognized their intrinsic excellence. It was a proper setting for this aged man of the world. It fitted his period. Suddenly the door opened and George was announced. Ferdy saw my surprise and gave me a little smile of triumph.
'I'm very glad you were able to come after all,' he said as he shook George's hand.
I saw him in a glance take in his great-nephew whom he saw today for the first time. George was very well dressed. He wore a short black coat, striped trousers, and the grey double-breasted waistcoat which at that time was the mode. You could only wear it with elegance if you were tall and thin and your belly was slightly concave. I felt sure that Ferdy knew exactly who George's tailor was and what haberdasher he went to and approved of them. George, so smart and trim, wearing his clothes so beautifully, certainly looked very handsome. We went down to luncheon. Ferdy had the social graces at his fingers' ends and he put the boy at his ease, but I saw that he was carefully appraising him; then, I do not know why, he began to tell some of his Jewish stories. He told them with gusto and with his wonderful mimicry. I saw George flush, and though he laughed at them, I could see that it was with embarrassment. I wondered what on earth had induced Ferdy to be so tactless. But he was watching George and he told story after story. It looked as though he would never stop. I wondered if for some reason I could not grasp he was taking a malicious pleasure in the boy's obvious discomfiture. At last we went upstairs and to make things easier I asked Ferdy to play the piano. He played us three or four little waltzes. He had lost none of his exquisite lightness nor his sense of their lilting rhythm. Then he turned to George.
'Do you play?' he asked him.
'A little.'
'Won't you play something?'
'I'm afraid I only play classical music. I don't think it would interest you.'
Ferdy smiled slightly, but did not insist. I said it was time for me to go and George accompanied me.
'What a filthy old Jew,' he said as soon as we were in the street. 'I hated those stories of his.'
'They're his great stunt. He always tells them.'
'Would you if you were a Jew?'
I shrugged my shoulders.
'How is it you came to lunch after all?' I asked George.
He chuckled. He was a light-hearted creature, with a sense of humour, and he shook off the slight irritation his great-uncle had caused him.
'He went to see Granny. You don't know Granny, do you?'
'No.'
'She treats daddy like a kid in Etons. Granny said I was to go to lunch with great-uncle Ferdy and what Granny says goes.'
'I see.'
A week or two later George went to Munich to learn German. I happened then to go on a journey and it was not till the following spring that I was again in London. Soon after my arrival I found myself sitting next to Muriel Bland at dinner. I asked after George.
'He's still in Germany,' she said.
'I see in the papers that you're going to have a great beano at Tilby for his coming of age.'
'We're going to entertain the tenants and they're making George a presentation.'
She was less exuberant than usual, but I did not pay much attention to the