Caesar flung out "Christite" without concern, and demanded Patricia's contribution. "Aymerite," she ventured. Christopher's glances wandered from one to the other. She was seated on his own particular chair close to Caesar, in whose company she felt a strange comfort and protection, a security against her own heart that could not yet be trusted to shield the secret of her love. Mr. Aston was called on in his turn and he looked at Christopher with a smile. "I think we are all wasting our time and wits," he said placidly. "Christopher has his own name ready and your suggestions are superfluous." They clamoured for confirmation of this and Christopher had to admit it was true. "I call it Patrimondi," he said slowly, his eyes on Patricia, "because it will conquer the country and the world in time." Which explanation was accepted more readily by the younger members of the party than by the elder. But "Patrimondi" it remained, and if he chose to perpetuate the claims of the future rather than the past in this business of nomenclature, it was surely his own affair. Patricia, at all events, made no objection. She had recovered her equilibrium to find the relationship between them was so old that it called for nothing but mute acceptance on her part: the only thing that was new was her recognition of the barrier between them, whose imaginary shadow lay so cold across her heart. Constantia offered a refuge. Her watching eyes divined something of Patricia's unrest. She visited her that night at the period of hair-brushing and found her dreaming before a dying fire. "You get up too early," Constantia remonstrated, "it's a pernicious habit. If you would come and stay with me in London, I would teach you to keep rational hours." "Would you have me, really?" cried Patricia, sitting bolt upright, with every sense alert to seize so good an opportunity of escape. "Why, yes. I've been wanting to have you a long time. You had better come back to town with me to-morrow." "I'd like it better than anything in the world," asserted Patricia, fervently and truthfully. "I wonder if people ever grow up at all here," Constantia said, smiling, "you are all so preposterously young, you know." "You were brought up here yourself." Constantia laughed outright. "But I have been educated since I married: that is when most people's education does begin. We are only preparing for it before." "And if one never marries, one remains uneducated, I suppose." Constantia kissed her. "Your education is not likely to be neglected, my dear. Go to bed now, we will settle with Renata to-morrow." CHAPTER XXVII