Part 33 (1/2)
”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 a.s.sailed him: he would not make the momentous journey in solitude. He answered somewhat indistinctly.
”You might run me down; I must see Cousin Charles.”
”I should warn you it is a new road to me and I've had my car nearly a year; it's due to go wrong somehow, and I drive rather fast.”
”I expect you set sufficient value on your own life to insure mine.”
”It will be cold. You can't ride in that thin coat.”
”You pa.s.s the Carlton; I'm staying there. It won't delay us two minutes. What luck.”
He walked round and got into the car, oblivious of the trifling fact its owner had neither acquiesced nor expressed an enthusiasm over the luck.
”I hope he is nervous,” thought Christopher vindictively, ”though there's not much chance of it. He hasn't much hair to stand on end, but I'll do my best to make it.”