Christopher spent the whole of the day inspecting possible motors, perfectly aware all the time of the one he meant to purchase, but in no wise prepared to forego the pleasures of inspection. Sam was not free that evening, so he dined with Constantia Wyatt, whose elusive personality continued to remove her in his eyes far from relationship with ordinary women. She was going to a "first night" at His Majesty's Theatre as a preliminary to her evening's amusement, and her husband, honestly engrossed in work, seized on Christopher at once as an adequate substitute for his own personal escort. He would meet her with the carriage after and go with her to the Duchess of Z----, but it would be a great help to him to have a few early evening hours for his book; so he explained with elaborate care. "Basil is so deliciously mediaeval and quaint," Constantia confided to her young cavalier as the carriage drove off; "he quite seriously believes women cannot go to a theatre or anywhere without an escort, even in our enlightened age. I assure you it is quite remarkable the number of parties we attend together; people are beginning to talk about it. If it's impossible for him to come himself he always seems to have hosts of cousins or relations ready to take his place. Oh, charming people; but quite a family corps, a sort of 'Guard of Honour,' as if I were Royalty--and really, at my time of life." She turned her radiantly beautiful face to Christopher. She was indeed one of those beloved of time and it seemed to Christopher as he saw her in the crude flashing glare from the streets without, that the past ten years which had made of him a man had left her a girl still, but since he was as yet no adept at pretty speeches he kept the thought to himself and said shyly: "It is not a question of age at all." "You, too, think me incompetent to look after myself?" "It is not a matter of competence either, is it? I mean, one can easily understand that Mr. Wyatt is proud of being your...." He stopped lamely. "Finish your sentence, you tantalising boy." "Your caretaker, then," he concluded defiantly. "Delicious," she clapped her hands softly. "I thought you were going to say 'proprietor.'" "It is you who are the proprietor of the caretaker, isn't it?" "The new cadet is worthy his commission," she pronounced with mock gravity. "It is a great honour, especially since I am not one of the family." He never forgot this in her presence. It was as if an overscrupulous remembrance of hard days forced him to disclaim kinship with anything so finely feminine as Constantia Wyatt; as if he found no right of way from his own world of concrete fact into that delicate gracious world of illusions in which he placed her. Such barriers did not exist for her, however, and thence it came that it was to Constantia that Christopher spoke most easily of his relationship to the Aston family. She put aside his disclaimer now, almost indignantly.