Christopher considered thoughtfully.
“I believe you are right,” he returned at last in a tone of naïve surprise. “How stupid of me not to have guessed before. I had always tried to think you 170 helped him to gratify me. It was a great strain on my credulity. Now I understand.”
“It had nothing to do with you at all,” retorted Cæsar irritably, shifting his position a little, whereby a cushion fell to the ground. With a gust of petulance he pitched another after it, and then in rather a shamed way, told Christopher to ring for Vespasian to put the confounded things right.
But Christopher did no such thing. He put his strong arm round Cæsar, raised him, and rearranged the refractory cushions, talking the while to divert attention from this unheard-of proceeding.
“I shall go to London to-morrow and study Sam in order to oust him from your fickle affections,” he announced. “Seriously, Cæsar. I ought to be running round seeing things a bit.”
And Cæsar, having brought him to the conclusion he wished, signified his entire approval.
The following morning when Christopher came in to bid Cæsar good-bye, he found Mr. Aston also there, standing by the fire with a humorous smile on his face in evident appreciation of some joke.
“Christopher,” said Aymer severely, “I have something important to say to you.”
Christopher drew himself up to attention as he had learnt to do when under rebuke as a boy.
“If you are going to make a habit of running up and down to town and the ends of the earth on ridiculous business and worrying everyone’s life out with time-tables (it was notorious Christopher never consulted anyone about his comings and goings), you must understand you cannot use Renata’s carriage and pair for your station work. Max’s pony is not up to your weight, neither is the station fly. I find on inquiry my father occasionally requires his motor for his own use; anyhow, it is not supposed to get muddy. So you had better buy one for yourself.”