They both laughed, and Mr. Aston released him. The colour burned on Aymer’s face. Grown man as he was, the sudden subjection to authority so exerted was hard to bear even in the half-joking aspect with which his father covered it.
Mr. Aston knew it. He had deliberately used the very helplessness that was his son’s best excuse for his outbreak, to check the same, and however thankful for his success, the means were bitter to him also, only he was not going to let Aymer see it or get off without further word.
“I shall have to send you to school again,” he said, picking up the broken glass. “I can’t have Nevil’s property treated like this. He’ll be adding ‘breakages’ to the weekly bill.”
“I’ll pay,” pleaded Aymer, contritely, “if you won’t tell him. Where is he?”
“Gone to London, of all the preposterous things; so Renata says. She expects him back to-morrow, I suppose Bowden will look after him, but I should have wired to them had I known he was going.”
He seemed really a little worried, and Aymer laughed. 261
“What a family, St. Michael! Nevil can look after himself a good deal better than you think. He puts it on to get more attention.”
“Do you think he is jealous?”
“Not an ounce of it in him. I have the monopoly of that,” he added, with a sharp sigh, and then, without any warning, he caught his father’s arm and pulled him near.
“Father,” his voice was hoarse and unsteady, “if Peter tells Christopher, what will happen? I can’t think it out steadily. I can’t face it.”