and put a finger on the
other's knee; his hard, keen eyes sought the far recesses of his son's
mind, but they did not sink deep enough to read his soul. Christopher
struggled with the impetuous words, the direct bare truth that sought
for utterance. Truth was too pure and subtle a thing to give back
here. When he answered it was in his old deliberate manner, as he had
answered Fulner--as he would invariably answer when he mistrusted his
own judgment.

"If I told you my objections you would not care for them or understand
them. You would think them folly. I won't defend them. I won't offer
them. It is just impossible, but I thank you."

He rose and Masters did the same with a curious look of admiration and
disappointment in his eyes.

"I thought you a better business man, Christopher. Will you refer the
matter to your--guardian?"

"No. It is quite my own. Even Aymer can't help me."

Peter's lips straightened ominously.

"You will come to me yet. My terms will not be so good again."

"Then I am at least warned."

"As you will. You are a fool, Christopher, perhaps I am well quit of
you."

"I think that is quite likely," returned Christopher gravely, with a
faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He went away despondently,
however, and stopped at the door.

"When would you like me to go?"

"I told you: we go up to London on Monday," said the millionaire
sharply. "I engaged you to buy a car and you must buy it."

"I am quite ready to do so."

He left the room with an appalling sense of defeat and humiliation on
him. He could hardly credit a victory that left him so bruised and
spiritless. It was in his mind to run away and avoid his engagement
in London. He might even have done so but for Peter's remark. He
walked across the hall with downcast eyes and nearly fell against a
tall thin form.

"Nevil!" cried Christopher.

"Yes, Nevil. Christopher, could I be had up for libel if I wrote the
life of a railway train?"

CHAPTER XXII

Christopher led the way into the nearest room and turned to Nevil with
an anxious face.

"What is wrong? Is it Caesar?" He stopped abruptly.

"There's nothing wrong. Mayn't anyone leave Marden but you, you young
autocrat?"

Nevil deposited his lanky self in a comfortable chair and smiled in
his slow way. Then he looked round the room with a critical,
disapproving eye.

"Is Peter at home?" he asked, "and do you think he could put me up for
a night? I suppose I oug