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Christopher had once shouted angrily, forgetting Tucker, and for the space of a few minutes the other had lain silent, choking back the strangling sobs. But presently the shattered nerves revolted against restraint, and Will burst out afresh into wild crying.
"Don't you care about shooting?" asked Edward, whose suspicions were not yet laid to rest. "I've never shot in my life," said Ralph, turning and looking him in the face, because he was not sure how this confession would be received. "You wouldn't have much chance in London, I suppose," said Christopher. "But won't you find it rather dull just watching us?"
Presently he saw the bulky form of Peter Masters on the steps and joined him reluctantly. "I want to see you, Christopher," said Peter as he approached. "Come into my room. I shan't be able to go to London this week to buy the car, so you must stay until Monday and go up with me then," he announced, and without waiting for assent or protest plunged into his subject with calculated abruptness.
Elisabeth laughed again, and looked through the trees to the fields beyond. Friends were much more comfortable than lovers, she said to herself; Alan in his palmiest days had never been half so soothing to her as Christopher was now.
Christopher noticed that none but heads of departments paid any attention to the owner's presence, and he would have thought him unknown but for a word or two he caught as he lingered for a last look at a particularly fascinating electric lathe. "Thinks he's master," grinned one man, with a shrug, towards the retreating form.
She hung her head with a pretty, sheepish air, and asked him if he could not think of something agreeable to say to one after deserting one so long. "I am afraid not," said Christopher, bluntly. "I have an awkward habit of speaking the truth; and some people can't bear that, not even when it is spoken for their good."
This pity was quite gratuitous, as the most plentiful pity always is; for though Lady Cheverel did not share her husband's architectural enthusiasm, she had too rigorous a view of a wife's duties, and too profound a deference for Sir Christopher, to regard submission as a grievance. As for Sir Christopher, he was perfectly indifferent to criticism.
If, as was probable, she should prove susceptible to the merits of Anthony's person and character, nothing could make Sir Christopher so happy as to see a marriage which might be expected to secure the inheritance of Cheverel Manor from getting into the wrong hands.
Aymer," pointed out the great general's successor sternly. "You never see him with even a turn-down collar, and he lying on his back all the time, when most gentlemen would consider their own comfort." Christopher, hot, angry and uncomfortable, wondered if Vespasian had insisted on the wearing of those instruments of torture, or if Cæsar really preferred it.
When strangers came to Oxford with letters of recommendation, the recluse would leave his study, and gladly lead them about the town, through Logic Lane to Queen's, which had not then the sublimely classical front, built by Hawksmoor, "but suggested by Sir Christopher Wren." It is worthy of his genius. Wood died in 1695, "forgiving every one." He could well afford to do so.
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