red and
embarrassed.

"You mean--a woman," said Aymer in a strangely quiet voice.

Christopher noticed the scar again, clear and distinct. Aymer took out
a cigarette and lit it carefully. Christopher watched dumbly. He
wanted to cry: for no reason that he could discover. Presently Aymer
turned to him as he sat on a low chair by the side of the wide sofa
and put his arm round him again.

"I'm sorry, little Christopher," he said rather huskily, perhaps
because he was smoking, "but I'm afraid I can't give you that, old
chap. We only--remember them here."

The tired child yielded to the slight pressure of the arm--his head
dropped against his new friend--the room was very quiet--only Mr.
Aymer must have been mistaken. It seemed to Christopher a thin
black-clad woman was in the room--somewhere--she was looking at Aymer
and would not see him at first--then she turned her head--he called
"Mother," and opened his eyes to find Mr. Aymer bending over him.

When Mr. Aston had returned and found Aymer smoking composedly with
one arm round the sleeping boy, he had pointed out with great care the
enormity of a small child being out of bed at eleven o'clock.

Aymer put down his cigarette and looked at his charge.

"Vespasian did come for him," he confessed; "I thought it a pity to
wake him till you came. It's just as I feared," he added with assumed
pathos, "you have had first innings and I shall have to take a second
place."

"It's only just that he got used to me: I hardly talked to him at
all," pleaded Mr. Aston humbly, and Aymer laughed. Whereupon
Christopher woke up, rubbing his eyes, and smiled sleepily at Mr.
Aston.

"I gave him the message, not just at once, but almost."

His first friend sat down and drew him to his knee.

"Well, what do you think of my big boy?" asked Mr. Aston. "I've been
scolding him for not sending you to bed."

Christopher looked from one to the other with solemn eyes, blinking in
the light.

"Scolding him? Isn't he too big to be scolded?"

The men laughed and involuntarily glanced at each other in a curiously
conscious manner.

"He does not think anyone too big to scold," sighed Aymer resignedly.
"Father, about the name: I'd rather tell him to-night." His voice was
a little hurried. Mr. Aston glanced at him questioningly.

"As you like, Aymer--if he's not too sleepy to listen. Are you,
Christopher?"

"I'm not tired," answered Christopher, valiantly blinking sleep out of
his eyes.