“In the little reception-room.”
Christopher followed him down the passage puzzling over this unexpected behaviour.
Nevil was re-exploring the inaccurate picture with patient sorrow and despair. He hardly turned as they entered.
“How do you do, Peter,” he said unenthusiastically, “why do you buy pictures like that by men who don’t even know the subject they are painting?”
“I’ll burn it to-morrow. What’s the matter with Aymer, Nevil?”
Nevil looked reproachfully at Christopher.
“Nothing is the matter, as I told Christopher, only I’d a man to see at Leamington and thought I could get a fellow victim here for the journey home.”
“I’ll meet you in London on Monday,” put in the fellow victim quietly to Mr. Masters.
Peter looked from one to the other, lastly he looked 254 long at Christopher and Christopher looked at him. Nothing short of the revelation Peter was as yet unprepared to make would stop Christopher from going to Aymer Aston that night he knew, and if he let the boy go back with the truth untold, it would be forever untold—by him. That it was the Truth was a conviction now. There was no space left for a shadow of mistrust in his mind.
“If you go by the mail we’d better dine at eight sharp,” he said abruptly. “I want to see you, Christopher, before you go, in my room.” He turned towards the door, adding as an afterthought, “You must look after Nevil till I am free.”