“There was a reasonable excuse for you.”
“I’m afraid I did not consider reason much in those days, sir. If he’d been a saint in disguise I should have behaved like a brute just the same.”
Charles Aston came and stood looking down with a kind, quiet, satisfied smile. The attitude was the same as Peter Masters’ and Aymer, remembering it, smiled too.
“What did he really want, Aymer? He never came for nothing.”
“To induce me to go on the Stock-Exchange in partnership with him, I think. Thought it would be less boring than lying here all day with nothing to do.”
Charles Aston opened his mouth to protest and shut it resolutely, turned and walked down the room ruffling his hair, so that when he went back to Aymer, his iron-grey thatch was more picturesque than neat.
Aymer laughed.
“Who’s lost his temper now?” he demanded.
His father looked in a glass and, perceiving the devastation, attempted to remedy it.
“I’m awfully sorry,” he said with much contrition, “but I can’t keep my temper over Peter. Has he improved?”