tips.

Aymer was furiously angry with himself for the quick suspicion which
connected the boy with the missing sovereign. He tried honestly to put
it away from himself as unwarrantable and dangerous. But there it was,
a wretched little poisonous thought, tugging at his heart,
unreasonably coupled with a recollection of a conversation between
Patricia and Christopher that he had overheard one afternoon at
tea-time, anent the construction of an amateur brickwork bridge
across an inconvenient stream. Patricia had said they could buy bricks
at the brick-yard, and Christopher had said he had no money left; it
would cost lots and lots and they must wait till pay-day.

He mentioned the loss of the sovereign to Christopher and asked if he
had dropped the money on the stairs, and Christopher had composedly
answered in the negative, and had volunteered the remark that if it
had been dropped in the room it could not have rolled far on the thick
carpet. Aymer had been for the moment convinced of the injustice of
his own suspicion. He made no attempt to discover any other solution
to the problem; rather he evaded what might prove a difficult task,
and contented himself with solemnly sending Renata a cheque for the
remainder "with interest," and neither Renata nor Nevil spoke of the
matter again, at least to him. Nevil may have had his own opinions
about it, and if he had they were quite certainly communicated to his
wife. The worrying uncertainty, however, proved too much for Aymer,
and the following evening when he was alone with his father he told
him the story, half hoping to be scolded for harbouring uncharitable
suspicions. Now, Mr. Aston had been scrupulous to a fault in avoiding
the offer of any suggestions or advice on Christopher's upbringing. He
desired above all things to leave Aymer free in his chosen task, but
he realised at once this was a point where Aymer was quite as likely
to hurt himself as Christopher, and, therefore, that he, Aymer's
father, must make an exception to his rule and he did not like it. He
began drawing vague lines on his shirtcuff with a pencil, an evil
habit of his when uneasy in mind. Aymer watched him with disapproval.

"After all our efforts," he sighed gravely, "you still persist in your
old bad ways, sir. How often have I entreated you to remember a poor
valet's feelings, and how often has Nevil begged you to recollect the
sorrows of the washerwoman?"

Mr. Aston laughed and put away his