Aymer laughed.

"Who's lost his temper now?" he demanded.

His father looked in a glass and, perceiving the devastation,
attempted to remedy it.

"I'm awfully sorry," he said with much contrition, "but I can't keep
my temper over Peter. Has he improved?"

"Not a bit. He doesn't hurt, father, he's too big," he paused a
moment, "he saw Christopher."

Mr. Aston gave Aymer a scrutinising glance.

"It was unavoidable, I suppose."

"I did not try to stop it."

"And the result?"

"There was no result except he appeared impressed with his mental
capacity."

Mr. Aston ruffled his hair again in a perturbed manner.

"Didn't he see his likeness to his mother, Aymer?"

"Apparently not. It's not so strong as it was. He offered me advice on
his upbringing."

"Did he?" with an indignant shake of the head.

"All in good faith," said Aymer steadily, "he said he didn't approve
of education; as a proof of his sincerity, he cited the line he was
taking with his own boy."

There was a silence.

"He said he could put his hand on him when he liked." Aymer's voice
was quite level and inexpressive, but his father leant forward and put
his hand on his, saying hastily.

"He always says that. He believes it just a matter of money. It was
his one answer to all my remonstrances. When he wanted him he could
find him--not before. Aymer, I wish I'd been at home. Why did you see
him?"

"I could hardly refuse; it would have been churlish--unpolitic. I did
not know why he came. He was evidently struck with Christopher."

He laughed a little unsteadily, but his father smothered a sigh and
watched him with curious solicitude. The unwritten law that
Christopher had learnt so well had been very heavily infringed, and
Charles Aston had no liking for the man who had infringed it, though
he was his first cousin.

He was weighing in his mind what his son must have suffered in that
interview, and trying to see if it could have been foreseen and
prevented.

Peter and Aymer, who was only five years his junior, had been great
friends in the far-off days before the tragedy, but the former was too
nearly, though half unconsciously, connected with that to be a
possible intimate for Aymer now. The possibility of his turning up in
this casual manner, ignoring with ruthless amiability all that had
passed, had really never occurred to either father or son, and they
were both unprepared for a narrowly escaped crisis. But Aymer was
evidently