"You belong to Aymer. How can you say you do not belong to us, when you have been so good for him?" His main claim on them all lay in that, that he was and had been good _for_ the idolised Aymer Aston. He recognised it as she spoke and was content, for the proud generosity of his nature was built on a humility that had no underprops of petty pride. "That was quite unpremeditated on my part," he protested whimsically; "you are all far too good to me. I can never explain it to myself, but I accept it, and realise I am a real millionaire." Constantia Wyatt started slightly. Christopher noticed the diamonds on her hair sparkle as she leant forward. "How did you discover that?" she asked in a low voice. "My fortune? I was only ten when I came to Caesar, but I must have been a very dense child indeed if I had not known even then that the luck of the gods was mine--if I had not been sensible of the kindness----" His voice was low also and he fell into his old bad habit of leaving his sentence unfinished--hardly knowing he had expressed so much. Constantia gave a sigh of relief, and Christopher again was only aware of the twinkling diamonds, of melting lines of soft velvet and fur, a presence friendly but unanalysable. They passed at that moment a mansion of a prince of the world of money, and she indicated it with a wave of her fan. "Supposing, Christopher, you could realise some of your imaginary fortune for _his_?" "Heaven forbid. Think how it was made." "The world forgets that." "You do not forget," he answered quickly; "besides it's much nicer to be adopted than to fight other people for fortune." "I thought all boys liked fighting." "Not if there's anything better to be done. A Punch and Judy show or a funeral will stop the most violent set-to. I've seen it times, when I was a boy in the street. Sam and I raised a cry one day of 'soldiers' to stop a chum being knocked down. Then we ran." "Oh. Christopher, Christopher, can't you forget it?" He shook his head. "I don't want to. It wouldn't be fair to Caesar. Also I couldn't." "Some day you will marry, and perhaps she will rather you should forget." "No, she won't, she is far too fond of Caesar." He stopped abruptly. For one brief moment the great voice of the streets and the yellow glare died away; he was blinded by a bewildering white light that broke down barriers undreamed of within his soul. Then the actual comparative darkness of the carriage obscured it and he found himself again conscious of the scent of roses, the sheen of satin and soft velvet, and his heart was beating madly. He had stumbled over the unsuspected threshold, surprised the hidden temple of his own heart, and this, inopportunely, prematurely, and, to his everlasting confusion, in the presence of another.