He went slowly to the side table and had a second whiskey and soda, mechanically as he had done at first, then he rang the bell. When Christopher sought him shortly before dinner-time he was told curtly he could go to London at his leisure and purchase a car where and how he liked, so it were a good one. "I shall want a chauffeur with it," he added, "English, mind. You can charge your expenses with your commission, whatever that is." Christopher said gravely he would consider the matter. "You can send me word how Aymer is," concluded Masters shortly. "I suppose he's ill. The whole lot of you spoil him outrageously." CHAPTER XXIII Perhaps they did spoil Aymer Aston, these good people, who loved him so greatly, setting so high a store upon his happiness that their own well-being was merged therein. While it was quite true that neither Nevil nor any other could have worked peacefully in the electrical atmosphere of the house after Christopher left with Peter Masters, it is also true that no temporary personal inconvenience would have driven Nevil to undertake the long and tiresome journey, if his brother's welfare had not been involved. The need had been great. Aymer's restless misery increased every day of Christopher's absence. He refused to see any of the household but his father and Vespasian, and though at first he made desperate efforts to control himself, in the end he gave up, and long hours of sullen brooding silence were interposed with passionate flashes of temper. It was the old days over again, and all those near him realised to the full how great was the victory that had been won and how terrible life might have been for them all without it. Therefore they were very patient and tolerant, though Mr. Aston began to consider seriously if he would not be justified in breaking his given word to Aymer and summoning Christopher back at once. He looked very worn and tired when he joined Renata at dinner on the Thursday night. "Nevil does not mean to be away long, does he?" he inquired anxiously. "No, I think not. Why, St. Michael? Does Caesar want him?" "He asked for him this evening." "What a pity." She went on with her soup, with a little rose of colour on her face, thinking of the secret her husband had of course confided to her. Presently observing St. Michael hardly touched his dinner and seemed too weary to talk, she suggested nervously that she should sit with Aymer that evening. He conjured up a kind smile of thanks, but refused in his gentle, courteous way, saying that Aymer seemed disinclined to talk.