"It’s clear," Seth replied in a strained voice. "You’re going to have to Sort all of them? I mean, I don’t know how many people believe in the heresy, but it’s the sort of thing that everyone whispers about when they’re sure no one else is listening. I would bet there’s not a bloke at school who hasn’t speculated about it, at least."
"It’s that widely discussed?" Paul grimaced. "I've always favored letting people think what they like and allowing them to arrive at the truth in their own time. Usually, they do just that. This sounds far more widespread than I thought."
"Well, of course it is, Dad. You’re London’s Chief Mindsorter, and everyone here knows it. No one’s going to speculate about anything unorthodox around you."
"Touché," Paul conceded. "Though, knowing that, I’m surprised they speak any more freely around you. Why do they?"
"I’m that charming," Seth replied with an utterly bland look.
Paul stared at him over the rim of his teacup. "God help me and whatever young lady you decide to court."
And yes, Seth's non-answer there is significant.