Part 21 (1/2)

The first of these times, about six months after the covenant on the barrow, Nevil was present. Renata and one of the children had been there also, but Renata had seen the queer pallor creep up in her sister's face before even Christopher had guessed and had straightway hurried off with Master Max, a proceeding which usually precipitated events.

Then Christopher flung down his work and caught her clenched hand in his.

”Stop it, Patricia,” he said imperiously.

Nevil held his breath. It was a tradition in the Connell family that interference invariably led to a catastrophe. In his indolent way he had taken this belief on trust, the ”laissez faire” policy being well in accordance with his easy nature.

However, tradition was clearly wrong, for after one ineffectual struggle, Patricia stood still and presently said something to Christopher that Nevil did not catch, but he saw the boy free her and Patricia remained silently looking out of the window. Christopher turned to pick up his book, and for the first time remembered Nevil was present and grew rather red. Nevil had watched them both with a speculative eye, for the moment an historian of the future rather than of the past. He said nothing, however, but having discoursed a while on the possibility of skating next day, sauntered away.

He came to anchor eventually in Aymer's room, and sat smoking by the fire, his long legs crossed and the contemplative mood in the ascendency. His brother knew from experience that Nevil had something to say, and would say it in his own inimitable way if left alone.

”Christopher's a remarkable youth,” he said presently.

”Have you just discovered it?” said Aymer drily.

”He is no respecter of persons,” pursued Nevil quietly; ”by the way, has it ever struck you, Aymer, that he'll marry some day?”

”There's time before us, yet. I hope. He isn't quite sixteen, Nevil.”

”Yes, but there it is,” he waved his hand vaguely. ”I think of it for myself when I look at Max sometimes.”

Aymer wanted to laugh out loud, which would have reduced his brother's communicative mood to mere frivolity, and he wished to get at what lay behind, so he remained grave.

”There's Patricia, too,” went on Nevil in the same vague way. ”She, too, will do it some day. It's lamentable, but unavoidable. And talking of Patricia brings me back to Christopher's remarkableness.”

He related the little scene he had just witnessed in his slow, clear way, made no comment thereon, but poked the fire meditatively, when he had finished.

Aymer, too, was silent.

”You are her sole guardian, are you not?” he asked presently.

”With Renata. I wonder, Aymer, if anyone could have controlled that unhappy Connell?”

Aymer ignored the irrelevant remark.

”Renata does not count. Nevil, would you have any objections--as her guardian?”

Nevil strolled across to his brother and sat on the edge of his couch.

He took up a sandy kitten, descendant of one of Christopher's early pets, and began playing with it, attempting to wrap it up in his handkerchief.

”If you would mind, we will guard against the remote contingency at which you hint, by keeping Christopher away when he is a bit older,”

said Aymer steadily.

”My dear Caesar, it's not I who might object--it's you. You know what Patricia is, poor child. I thought it might not fit in with your plans. She hasn't a penny of her own, though, of course, Renata and I will see to that.” He knotted the handkerchief at the four corners and swung it to and fro to the astonishment of the imprisoned kitten.

”Christopher has nothing either,” said Aymer almost sharply, ”and I shall see to that, with your permission, Nevil. That unfortunate kitten!”

Nevil released it. It scampered over the floor, hid under a chair and then rushed back at him and scrambled up his leg.