to London, of all the preposterous things; so Renata says. She
expects him back to-morrow, I suppose Bowden will look after him, but
I should have wired to them had I known he was going."

He seemed really a little worried, and Aymer laughed.

"What a family, St. Michael! Nevil can look after himself a good deal
better than you think. He puts it on to get more attention."

"Do you think he is jealous?"

"Not an ounce of it in him. I have the monopoly of that," he added,
with a sharp sigh, and then, without any warning, he caught his
father's arm and pulled him near.

"Father," his voice was hoarse and unsteady, "if Peter tells
Christopher, what will happen? I can't think it out steadily. I can't
face it."

Mr. Aston knelt by him and put his hand on his shoulder, concealing
his own distress at this unheard-of breakdown.

"My dear boy, it would not make the slightest difference to
Christopher. I'm seriously afraid he'd tell Peter to go to the
devil--and he'd come home by the next train. He'd never accept him."

"He'd never forget," persisted Aymer, the sleeping agony of long years
shining in his eyes. "It would not be the same, father. He would not
be--mine. I could not pretend it if he knew. Peter would be there
between us--always as he was----"

He broke off and took up the thread with a still sharper note of pain,
"Father, can't you understand. I don't mind a woman. He'll love and
marry some day: it's his right. I don't grudge that. But another
father--his real one. Oh, My God, mayn't I keep even this for myself?"
He hid his face on the cushions, all the wild jealousy of his nature
struggling with his pride.

His father put his arm round him, hardly able to credit the meaning of
the crisis. Was that white scar on his son's forehead no memorial to a
dead jealousy, but only an expression of a slumbering passion?

"Aymer, old fellow, listen. Peter isn't going to tell, I feel sure of
it. And it would make no difference. You must allow I know something
of men. I give you my word of honour, Aymer, I know it would make no
difference to Christopher. You wrong him. You will always be first
with him."

"It's not Christopher," returned Aymer, lifting hard, haggard eyes
to his father, "it's myself. Twice in my life I've wanted
something--someone for myself alone. Elizabeth--and now Christopher!
It's I who can't share."

"Jealousy, cruel as the grave." Involuntarily the words escaped Mr.
Aston.

"More cruel."