He was a distinguished-looking old gentleman. It didn’t take her long to steer the conversation to Columbia University, to mention that her son was there, and that she knew Mr. Nicholas Murray Butler.

“I know Butler, of course,” he said politely, though she didn’t detect any great warmth in the statement.

“There’s a lecturer my son likes very much named Edmund Keller. I wonder if you have ever met him.”

“Edmund Keller?” Now Elihu Pusey brightened visibly. “I certainly know him. A historian of great promise. In fact…” He seemed to be about to say something, and then to have changed his mind.

“He was at my house for dinner the other day,” she said, pausing for a reaction. “He and my husband share an enthusiasm for Rolls-Royce motor cars,” she continued gently. “Mr. Keller is quite an Anglophile.”

“Ah.” Elihu Pusey looked at her sharply. He paused a moment. “Do you know him well?”

“Not especially well, but I know a lot about him. My husband’s grandparents, Frank and Hetty Master, were great supporters of his father, the photographer, in his early days.”

“I see. Master.” She could see him calling to mind what he knew about the name. “Then you are the Mrs. Master who lives just off Fifth Avenue? I have heard of your dinner parties.”

“I’m so glad. Could I persuade you to come to one of them?”

“Most certainly.” He brightened again. Whether it was the prospect of dinner, or more probably that he knew of her reputation for sound, conservative opinions, Elihu Pusey seemed to be ready to divulge more of whatever was on his mind. “Perhaps,” he said quietly, “you could give me your opinion on a rather sensitive matter. In confidence, that is.”

“People in my position know the value of discretion, Mr. Pusey.”

“Quite. The fact is that I was going to write a letter for young Keller, a recommendation.”

“I see.”

“But before doing so, I thought I should make one or two further inquiries. His family is German, I understand. German-speaking, even. And I wondered whether, in the present circumstances …”

She could guess exactly what Elihu Pusey must be wondering, and she could sympathize. He’s imagining those Oxford colleges, she thought, and what it will do to his reputation if Keller arrives there on his recommendation, and starts making pro-German statements.

“I remember hearing that Edmund Keller had to study German in connection with his reading at one time,” Rose said blandly. “I believe he speaks several languages. But I can tell you for a fact that his father Theodore doesn’t speak a word of German. The family is as American as, I don’t know, Astor or Hoover, or Studebaker.”

“Ah.” Elihu Pusey hesitated. “There is another matter, perhaps more serious. I spoke to Nicholas Murray Butler, and he did express to me a slight concern. He feared that some of Mr. Keller’s views might be …” the old man hardly liked even to pronounce the word, “somewhat socialistic.”