Aymer ignored the irrelevant remark.
“Renata does not count. Nevil, would you have any objections—as her guardian?”
Nevil strolled across to his brother and sat on the edge of his couch. He took up a sandy kitten, descendant of one of Christopher’s early pets, and began playing with it, attempting to wrap it up in his handkerchief.
“If you would mind, we will guard against the remote contingency at which you hint, by keeping Christopher away when he is a bit older,” said Aymer steadily.
“My dear Cæsar, it’s not I who might object—it’s you. You know what Patricia is, poor child. I 124 thought it might not fit in with your plans. She hasn’t a penny of her own, though, of course, Renata and I will see to that.” He knotted the handkerchief at the four corners and swung it to and fro to the astonishment of the imprisoned kitten.
“Christopher has nothing either,” said Aymer almost sharply, “and I shall see to that, with your permission, Nevil. That unfortunate kitten!”
Nevil released it. It scampered over the floor, hid under a chair and then rushed back at him and scrambled up his leg.
“Indeed, if things turn out as I hope, I shall have to provide for him,” went on Aymer steadily, “indeed I wish to do so anyway. It will mean less for Max, but––”
“What a beastly ugly kitten,” remarked Nevil suddenly with great emphasis, placing the animal very gently on the floor again.
“Don’t swear, Nevil,” retorted Aymer with a little ghost of a smile.