“Not until May if he can help it.”
“Not well?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
Peter Masters stood biting his lip and considering. 191 The footman brought out some letters which Christopher put in his pocket and then mounted.
“Can I take any message for you?” he asked politely.
“Are you going straight to Marden now?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
Christopher devoutly hoped he was, but a sudden fear assailed him: he would not make the momentous journey in solitude. He answered somewhat indistinctly.
“You might run me down; I must see Cousin Charles.”