eturning home. He sent no warning of his coming, but arrived one day
at Aston House with his beloved car. It was in his heart to continue
his journey straight away, but thinking what pleasure it would give
Aymer to watch the practical working of his experiment, he put aside
the dictates of his desires and spent the day purchasing materials.
Also he called on Constantia and found himself incomprehensibly making
excuses for the delay. "I shall go down early to-morrow," he said; "it
can make no difference, since they do not know I am in England."

"No, I don't suppose it can," said Constantia thoughtfully.

CHAPTER XVI

Christopher flecked an imaginary speck of dust from the burnished
metal of his car. He was all ready to start, but seeing a postman
coming up the drive, waited to take down the latest delivery of
letters, and as he waited a hansom drove up, and since his car
occupied the portico, stopped at the side. A big form emerged with a
jovial red face and wide shoulders. It was six years since Christopher
had seen the man, but his name and personality and, above all, the
antipathy with which he had formerly inspired him flashed with
lightning vividness to his mind. Peter Masters glanced at Christopher
with a momentary puzzled look and turned to ring the bell.

"If you want to see Mr. Aston, Mr. Masters, he is at Marden, and Aymer
also. I'm just going down."

"Ah." The keen eyes searched him up and down. "I've seen you before;
can't place you, though; you aren't Nevil's boy."

"No, I'm----" Christopher hardly knew why he changed the form of his
answer, or that he had. "I'm the boy Aymer adopted. You saw me about
six years ago."

"Oh, I remember. Christopher Aston, they call you. You did not like
me. What have you done with that clever head of yours, eh?"

Christopher carefully examined a nut on the car.

"Well, never mind. When will Cousin Charles be back?"

"Not until May if he can help it."

"Not well?"

"Quite well, thank you."

Peter Masters stood biting his lip and considering. The footman
brought out some letters which Christopher put in his pocket and then
mounted.

"Can I take any message for you?" he asked politely.

"Are you going straight to Marden now?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

Christopher devoutly hoped he was, but a sudden fear assailed him: he
would not make the momentous journey in solitude. He answered somewhat
indistinctly.

"You might run me down; I must see Cousin Charle