"Yes, in spite of you both, by reason of his practical, determined, hard-headed nature which he probably inherits from his father, eh?" "You are probably right. I am not in a position to say." "You did not know his parents?" Charles Aston pushed back his chair and looked beyond Peter to the portrait of Aymer. They must come to close quarters or he would give out, and suddenly it came to him that he must adhere to his universal rule, must give the better side of the man's nature a chance before he openly defied him. The decision was made quite quickly. Peter only recognised a slight pause. "You seem interested in Christopher," Mr. Aston said slowly. "I will tell you what there is to know. About eleven years ago Aymer became possessed of a passionate desire to have a boy to bring up, since he might not have one of his own. In hunting for a suitable one I stumbled on the son of someone I had known who had fallen on very evil days." He stopped a moment. Peter took out another cigar and lit it. "On very evil days," repeated the other. "The boy was left at a country workhouse in this county as it happened. I knew enough of his paternity to know that he was a suitable subject for Aymer to father. I have never regretted what I did. The boy has become the mainspring of Aymer's life; he lives again in him. All that has been denied him, he finds in Christopher's career; all he cannot give the world he has given to this boy, this son of his heart and soul. No father could love more, could suffer more. And Christopher is repaying him. He has known no father but Aymer, no authority but his, no conflicting claim. I pray God daily that neither now nor in the future shall any shadow fall between these two to cancel by one solitary item Christopher's obligation to his adopted father. Perhaps I am selfish over it, but anyway, Aymer is my son, and I understand how it is with him." There was a silence in the room. Peter puffed vehemently and the clouds of blue-grey smoke circling round him obscured the heavy features from his cousin when his eyes left the picture to look at him. "Yes, yes, I see. Quite so," said a voice from the smoke at last, and slowly the strong, bland expressionless face emerged clearly from the halo, "but I am no further on my way towards my son. And who's to have the money if I don't find him? Will you?" "Heaven forbid!--and Nature! Peter, I'm sixty and you are fifty-four." "Will Nevil's boy?" "We have enough. We should count it a misfortune. Leave it in charities." "And suppose he discovers some day who he is, and wanted it?" "Hardly likely after so long." "Quite likely. Shall I leave it to Christopher?" It was the last thrust, and it told. There was quite a long silence. Charles longed passionately to refuse, but even he dared not. The issue was too great. "I cannot dictate to you in the matter," he said at length, "but I do not think Christopher would appreciate it."