Page 62 of Affair

Hamilton watched him warily. “What is it that concerns her?”

“Your choice of amusements.”

“That is utter nonsense. She thinks I’m still in leading strings. But I’m a man now. Mother will have to accept that I have a right to enjoy myself with my friends. It’s only natural that I spend more time at my club.”

“About this club you have recently joined,” Baxter said slowly. “What is the name of it?”

“Why do you care?”

“Merely curious.”

Hamilton hesitated and then shrugged. “It’s called The Green Table. But if you are thinking of applying for membership, I suggest you reconsider.” He smiled thinly. “I do not believe that you would find it suitable to a man of your advanced years and unexciting temperament.”

“I see. Do not concern yourself. I spend little enough time at my own club. I have no interest in joining a new one.”

“I am relieved to hear it. I cannot imagine the two of us hanging about the same club. It would be damned awkward.”

“No doubt.”

“It’s not as if we share the same interests.”

“No.”

Hamilton eyed him suspiciously. “You have no compelling curiosity about the nature of events on the metaphysical plane.”

“You are quite correct in that assumption.”

“And I cannot think you would want to discuss the latest works of the Romantic poets.”

“The subject is not high on my list of dinner table conversation topics,” Baxter admitted.

“And you certainly would not care to experiment with various methods of establishing the truth about the philosophy of the supernatural.”

“Even lower on my list of favored topics than romantical poetry,” Baxter agreed cheerfully. “Are those the sorts of discussions with which you amuse yourself at The Green Table?”

“For the most part.”

“I understood it was a gaming hell, not a philosophical salon.”

“My friends and I have created a club within a club. The management of The Green Table caters to our preferences in a separate portion of the establishment.”

“I see. I believe I shall stick to my laboratory.”

“Yes, that would be best. You would not enjoy yourself at The Green Table.” Hamilton gazed at an array of glass tubes arranged on a nearby stand. “Father spent a lot of time here in your laboratory.”

“He had a great interest in science. My experiments intrigued him.”

“He always said you were quite brilliant.” Hamilton’s mouth twisted. “Called you a bloody hero because of some task you performed during the war.”

Baxter was surprised by that information. “He exaggerated.”

“I was sure he had. You’re hardly the heroic sort.”

“True. Being heroic requires a great deal of energy and strong emotion. Much too wearying for a person of my temperament.”

Hamilton hesitated. “When I was fourteen, Father made me study that book you wrote under a pseudonym,Conversations on Chemistry.”

“I’m sure you found it deadly dull.”

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