But Sam's objections were more "code" than genuine. He was really anxious to hear the wonderful news confirmed by more responsible lips than Christopher's--not that he disbelieved his intentions, but he still doubted his powers. He grew very silent, however, as they turned in at the beautiful iron gates of Aston House. He had never managed to really connect his old friend with this wonderful dignified residence that he knew vaguely by sight. He had had dim visions of Christopher slipping in by a side entrance avoiding the eyes of plush-breeched lords-in-waiting. But here was that young gentleman marching calmly in at the big front doors nodding cheerfully to the sober-clad man waiting in the hall who called Christopher "Sir." Sam successfully concealed under an expression of solid matter-of-factness the interest and curiosity that consumed him. He looked straight before him and yet saw all round. He accepted the whole calmly, but he wanted to sit down and stare. Christopher explained that they were to have dinner together in his own sitting-room as soon as they had seen Aymer. They went through the swing doors down the long corridor leading to Aymer's room, and Christopher stopped for a moment near a window. "I never come down here in this sort of light," he said with a little catch in his voice, "without thinking of the first evening I came. How big it all seemed and how quiet." "It is quiet," said Sam in a subdued whisper. In another moment they were in Aymer's room. "Hullo, Caesar. Here we are, turned up like bad pennies." Christopher pulled Sam across the room to the sofa. Sam would have been not a little surprised had he known that it cost Aymer Aston a great deal more effort to see a new face than it cost him to look at this Caesar of whom he had heard so much. The "code" slipped from his mental horizon and left him red and embarrassed, watching Christopher furtively to see what he would do. "Here's Sam, Caesar. I've told you all about him and he may just have heard your name mentioned--possibly--" laughed Christopher seating himself on the sofa and indicating a chair to his friend. Aymer held out his hand. "Yes, I've heard of you, Sam. Sit down, won't you?" Sam sat down, his hands on his knees, and tried to find a safe spot on which to focus his eyes. "Now, isn't it a jolly room," began Christopher triumphantly, "didn't I tell you?" "It's big," said Sam cautiously. "Christopher, behave yourself. Don't mind his bad manners, Sam. It's sheer nervousness on his part, he can't help it." A newspaper was flung dexterously across his face. "Which gives point to my remark," continued Aymer, calmly folding it. "Well, have you enjoyed your day? Madness, I call it, the river in March!" Christopher plunged into an account of their jaunt to which his companion listened in complete bewilderment, hardly recognising the simple pleasures of their holiday in their dress of finished detail and humour.