She wasted no time in the consideration as to whether he loved her or not: she was sure of that much crown to her own life; but slowly the false conviction thrust itself upon her that had he thought otherwise the long, empty months that had passed would not have been possible. She was too young a woman to balance correctly the power of strenuous occupation on a man as weighed against the emotion to which a woman will yield her whole being without a struggle. Looking back on the long days that had elapsed since the affair by the little chalk pit on the downs, it seemed to her clear that Christopher had avoided her, and there was sufficient truth in this to make it a dangerous lever when handled in connection with the fear of her mind. It was, therefore, by a quite natural following-out of the mental process that she ultimately arrived at the conclusion it was her duty to assist Christopher to renounce herself, and for that purpose, that she might less hamper his life, she must leave Marden Court. The decision was not arrived at all at once. The day wore on and the natural order of things had brought her and Christopher face to face at a moment when she had forgotten there was any difficulty about it. Caesar had issued invitations to a family tea in his room in honour of Christopher's achievement, as was a time-honoured custom when any of the members of the family distinguished themselves in work or play. Christopher served tea, as it was Caesar's party, and it was not until he gave Patricia her cup that he recollected she had not crossed his path since that morning in the rain. "Where have you hidden yourself?" he demanded severely. "You said I could not hold my tongue, so I determined I'd prove you false," was her flippant rejoinder. "At the cost of self-immolation. I think it proves my point." "I appeal to Caesar." She got up and took a chair close to the sofa. "Caesar, I wish you'd keep that boy of yours in order. He is always so convinced he is in the right that he is unbearable." "Allow him latitude to-day. He'll meet opposition enough when he tries to foist this putty-clay of his on the world. By the way, what are you going to call it, Christopher?" Everyone stopped talking and regarded the Discoverer with critical anxiety. He looked slightly embarrassed and offered no suggestion, and it was Constantia who insisted airily that they should all propose names and he should choose from the offered selection. Christopher was made to take a chair in the midst of the circle and to demonstrate in plain terms the actual substances of which the "Road-stuff," as he inelegantly termed it, was made. The younger members of the family called pathetically for some short, ready name that would not tax pen or tongue. After a long silence Nevil, modestly suggested "Hippopodharmataconitenbadistium." This raised a storm of protests, while Constantia's own "Roadhesion" received hardly better support.