“Why didn’t he go on being permanent, then?”
“He thought he had something else he ought to do.”
“Was the Queen angry?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was it?”
Aymer cut the leaves of the book he was trying to read rather viciously.
“Taking care of me,” he said shortly.
Christopher got up on his knees and stared.
“Hadn’t you got Vespasian then?”
“Good heavens, Christopher, are you a walking inquisition? My father gave up his appointment—if you must know, because of my––” he stopped, and went on doggedly, “of my accident. I wasn’t particularly happy when I found I had to stay on a sofa all the rest of my life, and he had to teach me not to make an idiot of myself. Now you know all about it and need not bother anyone else with questions.”