ut her in
with the belief her duty lay in renouncing marriage, and also, more
limiting still in its effect, the idea that Christopher also held this
view in his secret heart.

She wasted no time in the consideration as to whether he loved her or
not: she was sure of that much crown to her own life; but slowly the
false conviction thrust itself upon her that had he thought otherwise
the long, empty months that had passed would not have been possible.
She was too young a woman to balance correctly the power of strenuous
occupation on a man as weighed against the emotion to which a woman
will yield her whole being without a struggle. Looking back on the
long days that had elapsed since the affair by the little chalk pit on
the downs, it seemed to her clear that Christopher had avoided her,
and there was sufficient truth in this to make it a dangerous lever
when handled in connection with the fear of her mind.

It was, therefore, by a quite natural following-out of the mental
process that she ultimately arrived at the conclusion it was her duty
to assist Christopher to renounce herself, and for that purpose, that
she might less hamper his life, she must leave Marden Court.

The decision was not arrived at all at once. The day wore on and the
natural order of things had brought her and Christopher face to face
at a moment when she had forgotten there was any difficulty about it.
Caesar had issued invitations to a family tea in his room in honour of
Christopher's achievement, as was a time-honoured custom when any of
the members of the family distinguished themselves in work or play.
Christopher served tea, as it was Caesar's party, and it was not until
he gave Patricia her cup that he recollected she had not crossed his
path since that morning in the rain.

"Where have you hidden yourself?" he demanded severely.

"You said I could not hold my tongue, so I determined I'd prove you
false," was her flippant rejoinder.

"At the cost of self-immolation. I think it proves my point."

"I appeal to Caesar." She got up and took a chair close to the sofa.

"Caesar, I wish you'd keep that boy of yours in order. He is always so
convinced he is in the right that he is unbearable."

"Allow him latitude to-day. He'll meet opposition enough when he tries
to foist this putty-clay of his on the world. By the way, what are you
going to call it, Christopher?"

Everyone stopped talking and regarded the Discoverer with critical
anxiet