not going to own frankly how great had been the strain and
how badly he had suffered under it. He set his pride to heal his
bruised feelings, however, applauding himself secretly for not
betraying to his cousin the torture to which he had unintentionally
put him. But he could not, having done this, altogether put it from
him, and the subject of Peter Masters cropped up next morning when
Christopher was sitting on the edge of Caesar's bed.

Aymer asked him abruptly what he thought of the visitor of the
previous day.

"I don't like him at all. I think he's beastly," was Master
Christopher's emphatic verdict.

"He is my second cousin, his mother was an Aston, and he is one of the
richest men in England, if not quite the richest. He is thought rich
even in America."

"And horrid, too, just the same: only perhaps I oughtn't to say so as
he is your cousin," added the boy with sudden confusion.

Aymer regarded him with an introspective air.

"He is a strange man, though many people don't like him. We were great
friends once."

Christopher opened his eyes very wide.

"_You_--and Mr. Masters?"

"Yes--when I was a young man like others. We quarrelled--or rather I
quarrelled--he came to see me when I was first--ill," he jerked the
word out awkwardly, but never took his eyes from Christopher's face.
"I was perfectly brutal to him. That's twelve years ago. Most men
would never have spoken to me again, but he doesn't bear malice."

"He wouldn't mind what anyone said to him," persisted Christopher;
"fancy your being friends!"

"You like me best then?"

Master Christopher caught up a pillow and hurled it at him, and then
made a violent effort to smother him under it.

"I think you're almost as nasty--when you say things like that,
Caesar."

"Then retreat from my company and tell Vespasian his baby is waiting
to be dressed."

Vespasian found his master in one of his rare inconsequent moods,
talking nonsense with provoking persistence and exercising his wits in
teasing everyone who came in his way.

Vespasian smiled indulgently and spent his leisure that day in
assisting Christopher to construct a man-of-war out of empty biscuit
boxes and cotton reels, for he was dimly possessed of the idea that
the boy was in some way connected with his master's unusually good
spirits.

CHAPTER VIII

It was not until Christopher had passed his fourteenth birthday that
he came face to face once more with the distant past