Part 48 (1/2)
After that he sat on the foot of the bed and talked frankly of his visit, and minute by minute the jealous fire in Aymer's heart died down to extinction.
Presently, however, he said abruptly and rather reproachfully: ”You never told me Mr. Masters had married.”
For a confused second the room and the occupants were lost in a fiery mist and only Christopher's voice lived in the chaos. Then Aymer found himself struggling to maintain hold of something in the mental turmoil, he did not know what at first: then that it was his own voice. It amazed him to hear it quite; steady and cool.
”Why should she interest you? Did Peter tell you?”
”No. Never mentioned it. One day I found Mrs. Eliot, the housekeeper, in a room, a sort of boudoir, playing about with holland covers, and I helped her. What was she like?”
”Mrs. Eliot?”
”No, you old stupid. Mrs. Peter Masters. I know you knew her, because there's a pen-and-ink sketch of you and Mr. Masters playing cards in the room.”
”Oh, is there.”
”Is she dead?”
”Yes.”
”What was she like--to marry Mr. Masters?”
”Like? Like other women,” returned Aymer, shortly.
Christopher looked at him sharply and realised he had committed an indiscretion--that this was a subject that might not be handled even with a velvet glove.
”Explicit,” he retorted lightly. ”However, that's not important. Now for something of real moment.”
He plunged into an account of Peter's final offer to him, and his own refusal.
”Why on earth did you refuse? Wasn't it good enough?” demanded Aymer curtly.
”No, not with P. M. attached. Might as well take lodgings in Wormwood Scrubs--quite as much liberty. But, anyhow, Caesar, you see now what you have got to do.”
”Get you apartments in Wormwood Scrubs?”
”No. Do be serious. Give me a laboratory here and some experimental ground. Do, there's a dear good Caesar.” In reminiscence of old days he pretended to rub his head against Caesar's arm.
”Ah, you invented Peter's offer to wheedle me into this. I suppose.”
”Exactly. Seriously, Caesar, if you would, it would be excellent. I've been thinking it out, I could work here safely. No one to crib my ideas. But I must have trial ground.”
”That's Nevil's affair.”
”Well, I undertake to manage Nevil if you are afraid,” said Christopher, with an air of desperate resolve.
”I thought you didn't like Marden,” persisted Caesar, fighting in an unreasoning way, against his own desires, ”and this engaged couple will wander round and get in the way.”
He looked Christopher straight in the face with scrutinising eyes, but he never flinched.
”I'll put up a notice, 'Trespa.s.sers will be blown up.'”