“Do you think Vespasian will let me take in Cæsar’s breakfast?”
“He would be delighted, I’m sure. Cæsar won’t believe in Leamington either, Christopher.”
“But he will easily believe I was bored—which is true. I don’t think he is as fond of Mr. Masters as he pretends to be.”
Whether Aymer believed or not, he asked no questions. He only remarked that Peter was far more likely to have been bored and Christopher had no eye to his own advantage. To which Christopher replied flippantly that it was a question of “vantage out,” and he was not going to imperil his game with a rash service.
After that he sat on the foot of the bed and talked frankly of his visit, and minute by minute the jealous fire in Aymer’s heart died down to extinction.
Presently, however, he said abruptly and rather reproachfully: “You never told me Mr. Masters had married.”
For a confused second the room and the occupants were lost in a fiery mist and only Christopher’s voice lived in the chaos. Then Aymer found himself struggling to maintain hold of something in the mental turmoil, he did not know what at first: then that it was his own voice. It amazed him to hear it quite; steady and cool. 266
“Why should she interest you? Did Peter tell you?”
“No. Never mentioned it. One day I found Mrs. Eliot, the housekeeper, in a room, a sort of boudoir, playing about with holland covers, and I helped her. What was she like?”
“Mrs. Eliot?”