Christopher entirely forgot to tell Patricia of his fortune or parentage. He remembered that little omission as he went down to dinner and looked back to see if she were visible, but she was not in sight, and as he was already late he had to go in without her.

She came down still later, looking so beautiful with such a touch of warm colour in her face, and so sweet a light of wonder in her eyes that even Nevil regarded her with speculative interest.

Aymer had long given up dining with them, and no one spoke of the lawyers’ visit or of Christopher’s rapid flittings, or indeed of any of the subjects on which their minds were really intent. But there seemed a tacit understanding amongst them that dinner must not be a long affair and was a prelude to something yet to happen.

They went out together and Christopher delayed Patricia in the hall.

“I must see Nevil and CÆsar and tell them at once,” he said hurriedly, “then I want you, my dearest. I’ve news for you, which I forgot just now. You must know it, though it makes no difference to us.”

Nevil came out at that moment and she slipped away after Renata with curiosity wide awake.

“Am I to congratulate you as a millionaire or commiserate with you as a bearer of burdens, old fellow?” asked Nevil, flinging himself into a big chair.

“You will congratulate me, I hope, but not about that confounded money though. Nevil, you are Patricia’s guardian. Will you and Renata give her to me?” 337

He spoke abruptly and without any preamble, gripping the back of a chair in his hands. A sudden doubt as to the family acceptance of what was an unquestionable matter in his eyes suddenly assailed him.

“You want to marry Patricia?”

Christopher nodded. “You can hardly urge we have not had time to know our own minds,” he said, smiling a little.

“No,” Nevil admitted, and then added rather distractedly, “What ought I to urge, though, Christopher? Of course it’s the greatest possible thing that could happen to Patricia, but for you?”

“I’m appealing to Patricia’s guardian, who has only her interests to consider. I’ll look after my own. However,” he went on hastily, “it’s only fair to tell you, Nevil, I don’t mean to take either the fortune or the name. So long as you’ll lend me your own I’ll stick to it. Failing that, my mother’s will serve me.”

Nevil made no comment beyond a nod. The younger man waited with what patience he could command.

“Does it seriously affect the matter?” he asked at last, “my refusing the beastly money?”

Nevil got up slowly and shook himself.

“It affects Patricia’s guardians not one bit. It’s not as if it were that, or nothing.”

“No, I’ve enough. Of course if I hadn’t I might feel differently about it. I can keep her in comfort, Nevil.”

Nevil got up deliberately and altered the position of a bronze on the high mantelshelf.

“It’s not Patricia I’m thinking about,” he said in his slow way, “but hang it all, you belong to us, Christopher. We must think of you! Have you counted the risks?”

“I probably understand them better than anyone.”

“Then I dismiss further responsibility. I’m really 338 more pleased than I can say, Christopher. Poor little Patricia! What fortune for her!”

“You clearly understand there won’t be any fortune?” persisted the other bluntly.

“Oh, Peter’s fortune? Of course not. Where’s the obligation? I’ll go and tell Renata.”

He strolled off and Christopher hurried to the West Room, where he found Aymer and Mr. Aston waiting expectantly. Christopher came to a standstill by the fireplace and to his amazement found his hands shaking. He had never imagined there would be any difficulty in this interview, yet he found himself unaccountably at a loss before these two men. The absurdly inadequate idea that they might consider it unjustifiable greed in him to grasp so great a prize as Patricia Connell when they had already given him so much assailed him.

Both men were aware of his unusual embarrassment and neither of them made the slightest attempt to help him out, for Mr. Aston had a very fair idea of what had happened, and had conveyed his suspicions to Aymer. They both found a certain amusing fascination in seeing how he would deal with the situation, and it was a situation so pleasing to them both that they failed to realise it might present real difficulties to him.

He faced them suddenly, and plunged into the matter in his usual direct way.

“CÆsar and St. Michael, I’ve something to tell you both. I am not sure if it will be news to you or not, but Patricia has said she will marry me.”

He came to an abrupt stop, and turned away again towards the fire.

“It’s very good news,” said Mr. Aston quietly, “if in no way surprising.”

“You don’t think I’m asking too much when I’ve had so much given me? I feel abominably greedy.” 339

“You might think of me in the matter,” protested Aymer, plaintively. “What on earth does it matter if you are greedy so long as you provide me with a real interest in life. I began to think you meant to defraud me of my clear rights.”

A very grateful Christopher crossed the room and took his usual seat on the sofa.

“I’ve been a blind idiot,” he admitted, “or rather an idle one. I’ve known for years it must be Patricia, and left it at that.”

“Why?” demanded Aymer.

But that he could not or would not tell them.

Mr. Aston then suggested Christopher should explain what he meant to do concerning his inheritance.

“Which you have treated so far with scandalous disrespect,” put in Aymer.

“I can’t touch it. It would be treason to—to my mother. And I don’t want it. I hate it, the way it’s done, the caring for it.”

There was something so foreign to Christopher’s usual finality of statement in this, that the two older men looked at each other with sudden apprehension and then avoided the other’s eye. For in their secret hearts they both knew that Christopher must presently arrive at the unconfessed certainty that had come to them, that this was not a matter in which he was free to act as he would. The call had come for him to take up a burden he disliked and sooner or later he would hear the voice and recognise the authority to which he had been taught to bow his own will. Yet both of them, without consultation or any word, knew it was not for them to interpret the call for him. Their work was over now. If they had taught him to set no value on the prizes of the world and to regard the means as of equal importance to the end, they had also taught him that duty may come in many disguises, but once recognised, her sway must be absolute. 340 Christopher would discover her in time, but they must hold their peace lest conflicting motives should hamper his surrender to her call.

“I’m going to meet Mr. Saunderson in town to-morrow,” Christopher went on, “I am not quite clear yet how it’s to be worked. I am only clear I won’t touch money of that sort. It costs too much. I feel pretty certain Mr. Saunderson has instructions what to do, if I refuse it.”

He looked at Mr. Aston with an unusual desire for confirmation of his hope and his decision. A strong inclination to appeal for such support pressed him sorely. But he knew it was only confirmation of his own determination he sought, and his ingrained independence of mind shrank from such a proceeding.

“If you know what you want to do and what you ought to do, why appeal to me?” CÆsar had repeatedly told the small boy he was fitting out for life: yet who so kind or patient when the decision still hung in the balance and uncertainty held the scales? There was no uncertainty now, Christopher told himself, and allowed none either to himself or to them. One concession only did he permit himself. He turned to Mr. Aston a little shyly.

“Would you go with me, St. Michael? I am afraid of Mr. Saunderson’s wrath if I am unprotected.”

Mr. Aston gravely expressed his willingness to hold his hand and see him through. After which Christopher went out to fetch Patricia. He found her sitting on the floor at Renata’s feet, the latter fussing over her with matronly joy and sisterly love, and talking inconsequently between times of Charlotte, with what would appear to an outsider irrelevance of the first order.

“Charlotte will be a most desirable bridesmaid,” Christopher remarked after he had listened a moment, 341 whereupon Renata became greatly confused and Patricia laughed without any embarrassment whatever.

“Charlotte has not yet had time to signify her approval,” she said. “I rely on her judgment to a great extent, you know. If she offers any objection we shall have to reconsider it.”

“I’m not afraid. Charlotte has always approved of me,” asserted Christopher cheerfully.

“Of course Charlotte will be pleased,” put in that young lady’s mother, quite seriously. “What nonsense you are talking, Patricia.”

She got up and offered a transparent excuse to slip away and leave the lovers alone.

Patricia, still kneeling by the fire, leant her head against Christopher.

“I used to try and make up my mind you would marry Charlotte when she grew up,” she said dreamily.

“How ingenious of you. Unfortunately, it was my mind, not yours, that was concerned, and that had been made up when Charlotte was in pinafores. Now come and talk business, dear.”

So at last he told her the news he had been so tardy in delivering, told her the whole story very simply and as impersonally as he could, but Patricia’s heart brimmed over with pity for him. She divined more clearly than the men the strength of his hatred for the burden with which he was threatened, and the burden of past memories in which that hatred had its root. In the fulness of her love she set herself the future task of rooting out the resentment for another’s sorrows, which she knew must be as poison to his generous soul. At length Christopher, having read in her love the confirmation for which he so childishly longed, took her away to be introduced to CÆsar in her new character as his promised wife. She waited for no such introduction whatever, but seated herself on the big hassock by the sofa that was still Christopher’s 342 privileged seat and leant her head against the edge of CÆsar’s cushions, but she failed to find anything to say and Christopher was so occupied in watching her as to forget to speak.

“It’s taken him a long time to recognise his own privilege, hasn’t it, Patricia?” said CÆsar, gently putting his hand on hers. “I was getting impatient with him. It was time he grew up.”

“You aren’t disappointed then?” she asked with a little flush of confusion. “Mrs. Sartin will be. She always expects him to marry a duchess at least. She is so insufferably proud of him.”

“She does not know him so well as we do, that’s why.”

“I’ll not stay here to be discussed,” remarked Christopher decidedly, “you can pull my character to pieces when I’m away. When did you last see Mrs. Sartin, Patricia?”

“Last Thursday. She comes to tea every week with Maria.”

Maria was Mrs. Sartin’s second daughter, midway between Sam and Jim, and was just installed as second lady’s-maid to Mrs. Wyatt.

“Is Sam more reconciled to her going out?”

“Not a bit. You know he wanted to send her to a Young Ladies’ Academy in Battersea. I know he’d have done it but for Martha, who has more sense in her fingers than he has in his whole head.”

“Hadn’t Maria anything to say in the matter?” This from CÆsar.

“No one has much to say when Sam and his mother dispute,” said Christopher, shaking his head. “Sam would be a tyrant, CÆsar, if he could. He always wants to push people on in his own way.”

“Sam is not singular,” put in Mr. Aston, in his meditative way, “character is all more or less a question of degree. There are the same fundamental instincts 343 in all of us. Some get developed at the expense of others, that’s all.”

“There but for the grace of God goes ...” said Patricia, laughing.

Christopher felt in his pocket and produced a coin.

“Apropos of which, CÆsar,” he said with a flicker of a smile, “I found this, the other day rummaging in an old box.”

He tossed it dexterously to CÆsar. It was a sovereign with a hole in it and the broken link of a chain therein. CÆsar looked at it and then slipped it in his own pocket.

“It’s mine, at all events,” he said shortly, “and we are all talking nonsense, especially Christopher.”

But Christopher shook his head.

“Mayn’t I understand all this?” demanded Patricia.

“No,” returned CÆsar, before Christopher could speak. “It’s not worth it. John Bunyan was a fool.”

“Not at all, but the other man might have retorted, ‘there with the grace of God goes I.’”

This was from Mr. Aston, and Christopher gave him a quick look of comprehension.

“The Court is with you, sir,” said Aymer languidly. “Let us discuss wedding presents.”