“I forgot, I was to tell you something,” he said suddenly, his face wrinkling with distress. “The other one—the gentleman who brought me––”
“My father?”
Christopher nodded. “I oughtn’t to have forgotten. He said he had to go to the House, but he’d be back quite soon, he hoped.”
“He’s had no dinner, I suppose,” grumbled Aymer.
“Yes, we had dinner at—I forget the name of the place—and tea. And yesterday we had dinner too.”
“That was wise,” said Aymer gravely. “Where’s Mr. Stapleton?”
“He went home by train this morning. I sat in his place all the time, not at the back.”
He paused thoughtfully. An idea that had been dimly forming in his brain, took alarming shape. A small companion at the Union had lately been sent out as a page to a kindly family. Christopher wondered if that was the meaning of all these strange adventures for him. At the same time he was conscious of so vast a sense of disappointment that he was compelled to put his Fate to the test at once. He jerked out the inquiry with breathless abruptness.
“Am I going to be your page?”
“Page?” Aymer Aston echoed the words with consternation; then held out his hand to the child. 20