Front matter (continued 4)

They had always been sympathetic. They looked upon much in life with the same eyes. They had the same tastes, the same intuitions, often the same impulses. Yes, he had shown himself unworthy. There was a fatal flaw in his character. He was wild, lawless, immoral; but he was her friend. Somehow she could not feel that anything could ever alter that. They had been too near, too intimate. He had become like one of the family. She could not regard him in any other light. He had wounded her to the heart, but yet, with a woman's odd faithfulness, she forgave him, pitied him, understood him. Only upon that one point she had stood firm. Her innate purity had arisen as an angel with a flaming sword, dividing them. She had not been able to overlook his sins and marry him. She had known him too well--too well. Possibly even she had loved him too well also.

But all that was over now. The pain was stifled, the sacrifice was past. She could suffer herself to accept his easy friendship with no dread for the future. She could let herself be at ease with him once more, knowing herself to be beyond his reach. Once very sorely she had been tempted to yield to him, but that temptation could never occur again. Her marriage was a safe anchor from which she could never break free and drift out to sea. She could afford now to be kind, since henceforth no more than kindness could ever be expected from her. And it was so good to be with him again. With all his waywardness and instability Charlie Burchester was the most satisfying friend she had. He never wearied her. He always caught and charmed her mood. He was so rarely sensitive, so delicately alive, to every change of feeling. There was even something almost uncanny sometimes in the way he read her woman's heart, a feat for which he himself accounted by declaring that they had been born under the same star.

It all came back to her as they sat at the same board on that Christmas Day. It was just as if there had never been any lift in their friendship. The memory of the man's passionate pleading and her own anguished refusal had faded into an evil dream. They were back once more in the old happy days of comradeship before he had ever spoken to her of love.

Only Jake's presence held her to the present, and when at the end of dinner he rose to carry out his suggestion with regard to fetching her mother in the dog-cart she felt, as soon as the door closed upon him, that the old life she knew and loved had wholly returned. She and Bunny and Saltash were just children together, and they settled down to enjoy themselves as such.

CHAPTER XXII

THE FAITHFUL WIDOWER

Lord Saltash's desire to see the stud evaporated completely during the afternoon. He stayed and made himself extremely charming to Mrs. Sheppard, who returned with Jake, very fluttered and arch, to spend an hour--only an hour or Giles would be so cross--in her daughter's new home. And when she left again under Jake's escort it was already growing dark.

"I've got to talk business with Jake so I may as well wait till he comes back," said Lord Saltash comfortably, and they gathered round the blazing fire and sat in luxurious enjoyment.

Undoubtedly Bunny had enjoyed himself that afternoon, but he had begun to grow restless and irritable, signs which Maud had learned to recognize as the heralds of a wakeful night. She wondered with some uneasiness if Jake would be able to manage him with his usual success.

"You haven't got a piano here, have you?" asked Saltash in a pause.

She told him, "No."

In the old days they had sung duets together. She wondered if he remembered.

He went lightly on. "You will have to use the one at the Castle. You mustn't let your talents run to seed. Come up any day, you and Bunny. The place will always be open to you, whether I am there or not."

She thanked him for the thought. "We should love to come; I have had no opportunities for playing for months, not since we left London."

"No?" he said. "I say, what made your mother come to Fairharbour? It's a hole of a place to live in."

She felt her face burn in the firelight. She hesitated, and at once Bunny cut in.

"The mother always has an eye on the main chance," he said. "And she is a great believer in friendship. When things look black she always likes to hunt up old friends and give them their opportunity."

His meaning was not obscure. Maud made a quick movement of protest; but Lord Saltash's inconsequent laugh covered her discomfiture on the instant.

"Poor Lady Brian! I am afraid her luck and mine are made of the same rotten material. It tears at a touch. But I should have thought she might have chosen a sounder man than Sheppard of 'The Anchor' for a husband."

"Isn't he sound?" asked Maud quickly.

Lord Saltash laughed again. "I could sell him up--lock, stock, and barrel--to-morrow if I wanted."

She started. "Charlie! You don't mean that!"

He looked at her with a gleam of mischief in his queer eyes. "Of course I do! 'The Anchor' belongs to me, and all that is in it. It's mortgaged for considerably more than its value, and I hold the mortgage. Did he never mention that detail?"

Maud sat speechless.

He stretched out a lazy hand. "It's all right, Queen Maud. He is quite safe so long as he behaves decently to you and yours. He's something of a brute-beast, I believe? Well, if he needs any salutary correction, you must let me know."

His ugly face laughed into hers; the light in his eyes was half-mocking, half-tender.

"It's good to know that there may be something left that I can yet do for you," he said. "The worthy Jake may have a stout right arm, but he is not a Croesus."

He turned the conversation in his easy, well-bred fashion, and her embarrassment died down. But the carelessly uttered information dwelt persistently in her mind, even though she found herself talking of indifferent things. It was strange that all her affairs should be so completely--and it seemed so irrevocably--under the direct control of this man whom she had once so resolutely driven out of her life. Fate or chance had thrown them together again. A little secret tremor went through her. What would come of it?

She had not attempted to touch the hand he had stretched forth to her. It had fastened upon the arm of the chair in which she sat and rested there. Presently she looked down at it, her eyes attracted by the gleam of the ring upon it.

"Your own," murmured Saltash. "Violets blue as your eyes!"

He moved his hand in the firelight, and the sapphire shone in the midst of the diamonds like a deep blue flame in the heart of a leaping fire. He drew a little nearer to her.

"You sent it back to me," he said. "I have worn it--like a faithful widower--ever since."

Her heart contracted with an odd little pain. "Don't wax sentimental, Charlie!" she pleaded, with a difficult smile.

"Would you prefer me heartless?" he said; but he withdrew his hand, and the sapphire burned no more.

They began to talk again upon ordinary topics, and the conversation turned upon the Graydown Steeplechase Races of the morrow. Two horses from the Burchester Stud were running.

"Beauties they are too!" said Bunny, with enthusiasm. "Sam Vickers swears they'll win." He uttered his quick, impatient sigh. "What wouldn't I give to see 'em do it!"

"Why shouldn't you?" said Saltash. "I'll take you over."

"Will you?" cried Bunny, with shining eyes.

And in the same breath. "No, no!" said Maud quickly. "Charlie! Why do you suggest these impossible things?"

Saltash laughed. "I never suggest the impossible," he said. "Bunny--and you too--can come along in the car if you will. I can make him quite comfortable with cushions."

But Maud shook her head. "It isn't so easy as it used to be. And he gets tired so soon. Really--really, it can't be done!"

"Oh, Maud, do shut up!" broke in Bunny. "You jaw like any old woman! Of course I'll come, Charlie! When will you be round?"

Lord Saltash looked at Maud with an impish expression. "I am afraid you are in the minority, ma reine. But leave it to me! I'll undertake that no harm is done."

Maud rose suddenly from her chair. She stood upright and slender in the firelight. "I can't consent to it," she said with resolution.

He sprang instantly to his feet. "You don't want to come?" he said.

She met his challenging eyes with an effort. "Don't make things difficult," she begged in a low voice.

"But if I got your mother to come too!" he urged. "She used to love race-meetings."

She turned her eyes away. "Neither Bunny nor I can go," she said steadily.

"I say I will go!" cried Bunny hotly. "I'm old enough to do as I like, and I won't be dictated to by anyone."

Saltash turned back to him. "I'll take you one day, old chap. But the queen's word is law, you know. We can't go in direct opposition to it. Moreover," with audacious simplicity, "it wouldn't be great sport for any one if the queen herself did not deign to accompany us."

"She'll go fast enough if I do," said Bunny. "She sticks to me like a leech."

"Lucky beggar!" said Saltash.

He glanced back at Maud. She was still on her feet, turned partially from him. It was evident that she did not mean to renew the friendly intercourse that his unwelcome suggestion had interrupted.

"I must get back to my lonely castle," said Saltash.

She turned then, as he had known she would. "No, don't go--why should you?--till--till Jake comes back!"

He laughed into her eyes. "Now, don't try to persuade me that you want me any longer! I know the signs too well. I am going to walk down and meet Jake, as I must have a word with him about the animals. By the way, why don't you call him Jacob? The other is too frivolous for your august lips."

There was a sting in the smiling question of which she alone was aware. She knew that he had it in him to be malicious at times. But she would not seem to notice.

"Are you backing either of the horses running to-morrow?" she asked.

He raised his agile brows. "But, of course I am. Who ever went to a meeting without putting something on? And you don't suppose I would lay a wager against one of my own beasts, do you?"

"You always back your own before anyone else's?" she said.

"Of course," he made prompt reply. "We've pulled off a good many events since Jake took command."

"Yes," she said slowly. "He is a genius with horses."

"Oh, quite useful," said Saltash carelessly. "Well, good night to you both! Many thanks for your kind hospitality! Don't forget the piano at the Castle! Come and go exactly as you like! I will give orders to that effect."

"You are very kind," she said.

But the pleasant intimacy between them was broken. She knew that her refusal to go with him on the morrow had hurt him. He was in a mood to sting at a touch.

She gave him her hand with genuine regret. "Good-bye, Charlie!" she said gently.

He took it with a gesture that made her remember that his mother had been a Frenchwoman. "Good night, ma chère!" he said lightly. "When thou art dreaming, think of me!"

Her faint laugh had a note of bitterness. "But I never dream," she said.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE NARROWING CIRCLE

When Jake returned at length, he entered an atmosphere so unmistakably stormy that he looked instinctively to Maud for an explanation.

The room was lighted and the curtains drawn. She was sitting in the low chair by the fire doing some intricate crochet-work with knitted brows. There was tension in her attitude, tension in the firm compression of her lips.

Bunny lay on his sofa, hot-cheeked, fiery-eyed, beating an impatient tattoo with one hand on the table by his side. On the table lay the presents that he had received that day, a box of paints and sketching block from his mother, a book from Maud, a small telescope from Jake himself. But he was looking at none of them. His brows too were closely drawn. His teeth bit viciously into his lower lip.

Maud did not raise her eyes at Jake's entrance. She seemed intent upon her work. He came and stood beside her.

"I should have been back sooner," he remarked, "but Lord Saltash met me, and I had to take him back to the Castle in the dog-cart."

Her fingers moved very rapidly. "I thought perhaps you would dine with him," she said, in a voice that sounded very cold and aloof.

"Not I," said Jake. "Give me my own fireside, and my clay pipe that doesn't go into aristocratic society!"

She raised her eyes momentarily. "Are you a Socialist?" she asked.

His eyes were unblinkingly upon her. "I guess not," he said, speaking with something of a drawl. "I've seen life--lots of it--that's all. As to my politics, well, I reckon they're mine and no one else's. I think just what I like of everything and everybody." He turned those intent eyes suddenly upon Bunny. "What's wrong with the head of the family?" he asked.

At once Bunny burst into speech. "Jake, it's--it's infernal that I can't go to the races in Charlie's motor--to-morrow. He's offered to take me. Why shouldn't I go? Hang it all, I will go!" He banged his clenched fist upon the table with the last passionate words.

Maud kept her eyes upon her work. Her hands though they moved so rapidly, were not wholly steady. "He is not fit to go," she said.

"That's not the reason you refused!" flung back Bunny, who was rapidly working himself up to fever pitch. "You said No just because you thought Jake would be jealous if you said you'd go. You're afraid of him, that's what's the matter with you,--afraid of his finding out that you're still in love with Charlie."

He broke into his cracked, painful laugh, stopping abruptly as Jake left the hearth and stepped quietly to his side.

"Don't touch me!" he said, shrinking sharply back.

Jake stooped. His face was grim. "My son, I'm going to touch you," he said. "I'm going to carry you straight up to bed. You've had more than enough excitement for to-day."

"I'm not going to bed!" cried Bunny, his voice high and defiant. "I'm not going for hours yet. Jake--Jake--leave me alone, do you hear? You're hurting me!"

"Afraid you've got to be hurt," said Jake.

He was slipping steady hands under the boy's writhing body. Maud had risen. She came swiftly forward. She touched Jake's shoulder, her face pale and agitated.

"Don't, please, Jake!" she entreated. "It does more harm than good."

He did not look at her or pay the smallest attention. Bunny was already in his arms,--Bunny, purple with rage, waving his arms in blind impotence.

"P'raps you'd open the door for me!" said Jake, in his slow gentle voice.

She went to the door. Somehow it was the only thing left to do. Jake followed her with his burden.

As he did so, Bunny ceased to struggle, realizing the mastery of the steady arms that bore him, and spoke; in a voice of tense hostility.

"You beastly groom!" he said.

Jake said nothing whatever. He carried him firmly, unfalteringly, from the room.

Maud closed the door softly behind him, and went back to her chair.

But she did not take up her work again. She sat gazing into the fire with wide, troubled eyes. She was beginning to realize that old associations, old friends, could be nothing but a disturbing element in her life, beginning to wish with yearning sadness that Charlie had not come back into it. She was tired--so tired, so sick at heart.

As for Bunny, he had grown out of hand and would never be the same to her again. She was sure of it, she was sure of it. Nothing ever could be the same again in this new world that she had entered. It was a world of harsh realities, wherein dwelt no softening magic. The fate she had dreaded was surely closing in upon her. Whichever way she turned, she found a narrowing circle.

A long time passed. She began to grow anxious. What was happening upstairs? Was it possible that Jake might after all lose his temper and visit his wrath upon Bunny's rebellious head? Would he by any chance make use of that frightful language which she had heard him employ only a few days before to a negligent stable-boy? Bunny's bitter epithet dwelt in her memory. Surely Jake would be something more than human if he did not resent it!

And then suddenly she heard his square footfall on the uncarpeted stairs, and a great wave of agitation went through her. All her being quivered at the thought of him, his unyielding mastery, his utter confidence. Two eyes, one black, one grey, seemed to flash a mocking question out of the depths of the fire into which she gazed. Her heart gave a little quiver of misgiving that yet was oddly mingled with satisfaction. No, she was not wholly sorry that Lord Saltash had come back into her life. He was so subtly refreshing. He sounded deeps in her of which none other guessed. His gaiety of soul called back her vanished youth.

Jake entered, and she turned her head, masking her embarrassment with a resolute effort. "Oh, Jake, come and sit down! I am so sorry this has happened."

He pulled forward a chair and dropped into it. "The little chap is overtired," he said. "He'll be better left to himself for a bit."

He spoke in a quiet, temperate voice. She realized with relief that he had not taken Bunny's bitter outburst seriously. She took up her work again.

"He is always difficult to manage when he gets caught by one of these moods," she said. "And he is apt to say wild things."

Jake began to fill his pipe, making no comment.

Maud worked on for several seconds, still struggling against an uneasy feeling of shyness.

After a little, in a low voice she spoke again. "Jake, I think--with you--that if Dr. Capper will examine Bunny and--and perhaps operate on him, it had better be done--as soon as possible."

"That so?" said Jake.

She knew that he turned his head to look at her, and a hot sense of discomfiture surged through her. She worked with fevered speed, as if much depended upon it.

"Of course--of course I want him to have--every chance. I am not so selfish as that. But--but--the anxiety will be very hard to bear. I dread it more than I can possibly say."

Her lips quivered suddenly. She became silent, still desperately making stitches that she could hardly see. She had not meant to make any appeal for sympathy. It had, as it were, escaped her from sheer embarrassment. She had never felt more utterly ill at ease in Jake's presence than she felt that night.

He did not immediately respond though she knew that he continued to watch her with those lynx-like, brilliant eyes. But after a very decided pause, his hand, square and steady, came forth and stopped her fevered working.

"Sit still for a bit, my girl!" he said. "Give yourself a rest!"

She started sharply at his touch, but gave in at once, suffering him to draw the work from her hands.

"Say, now," he said, "when you married me, I made myself a vow that you shouldn't be burdened any more beyond your strength. This anxiety you speak of, will it be harder to bear than to see Bunny suffering and not be able to help?"

She shook her head. Her eyes were full of tears.

"Guess you're overwrought," he said gently. "Why don't you lie down on the sofa? P'raps you'd get a sleep."

She mastered herself with an effort. "No, thank you. I am quite all right. Of course Bunny's welfare comes before everything and always will with me. Do you know, I think I will run up to him and see that he has all he wants."

"No, my girl, no! You stay where you are!" said Jake. "I've got him in hand. Don't you go making more trouble!"

She glanced at him with quick uneasiness. "But is he happy? Is he comfortable? I never leave him for long when he is like this. Once he dragged himself right out of bed and on to the floor. He was worse for weeks after."

"He won't do that to-night," said Jake.

But she was not reassured. "He may. How can you tell? He can be quite violent sometimes."

"He won't be to-night," said Jake with unmistakable conviction.

"What have you been doing to him?" she said, with quick suspicion.

He put a restraining hand upon her for she seemed on the verge of rising. "Now, don't you meddle!" he said. "The boy will be all right; only leave him alone! He won't come to any mischief because he can't. I've tied him down. No, he ain't uncomfortable," as she uttered a sharp cry of protest. "I saw to that before I put out the light and left him to come to his senses. He won't hurt, I tell you. You leave him alone!"

But Maud was already on her feet. "How could you?" she panted. "How dare you?"

He rose with her, still holding her. "Now be reasonable!" he said, in a voice of soft persuasion. "I'm real fond of the little chap, and I'm trying to make a man of him. He knows that all right. It's discipline he wants and discipline he's going to have. Don't you get interfering! You'll do more harm than good."

"Let me go!" breathed Maud.

She was white to the lips as she said it, white and desperate. Her eyes burned like two stars. But Jake held her still.

"Say, now!" he drawled. "Aren't you a bit unreasonable? I've taken a lot of trouble to bring him into line. And, as I tell you, I haven't hurt any part of him, except his pride, and that'll soon mend. Maud, my girl, now don't act the fool! Don't, I say, don't!"

She had made a sharp effort to wrest her arm free; but he frustrated it, taking her two wrists very gently but very decidedly into his square hold.

"Let me go!" she cried again, her pale lips trembling. "How--how dare you hold me against my will? Jake, you--forget yourself!"

He was looking at her with a hint of humour in his red-brown eyes. They were shining too, shining with a hot intensity, as though the leaping flames of the fire were reflected there. But at her words, he let her go very abruptly and turned from her. He took up his pipe again, standing so that she saw only his broad back and gleaming hair, while she waited behind him in palpitating silence.

Some seconds passed before he spoke. And then: "All right, my girl," he said. "Have it your own way! I reckon he's your brother more than mine, and I know you have his welfare at heart. If you think it to his interest to go and undo him--he ain't uncomfortable, mind you! I saw to that--I shan't interfere either way. Do whatever seems good to you!"

So he delivered himself, and having spoken sat squarely down and pulled out his match-box as though the matter were at an end.

She stood irresolute, facing him.

"Well? Aren't you going?" he said, after a moment.

And still she stood, feeling the strain to be past yet not daring to relax her guard.

Jake struck a match and held it to his pipe, looking at her whimsically between great puffs of smoke.

"There! Sit down!" he said, after a meanest. "Leave the child alone for a bit! I'll go up to him myself before long."

Casual as was his voice, the force of his personality reached and dominated her. It was certainly not of her own volition that she obeyed.

She sat down again in the low chair before the hearth. "I know he will have a bad night," she said uneasily.

"It won't be any the worse for this," said Jake, with confidence. "And, now, look here, my girl, I want to ask you something--just in a friendly way."

Maud's hands clasped each other hard. There was no repose in her attitude. "What is it?" she asked, in that aloof voice of hers that emanated from intense shyness rather than pride.

Jake was smoking steadily. The heavy odour of his tobacco filled the room. "I don't want to give any offence," he said. "But it seems to me that Lord Saltash is on a footing of intimacy with you and Bunny that rather points to your not knowing the sort of person he really is."

Maud's eyes grew suddenly darker. She looked him full in the face. "I know him too well to discuss him with any--outsider," she said.

"That so?" said Jake, slightly drawling. "Well, that certainly makes matters rather more complicated. I know him, too--awfully well,--so well that I shall have to request you to keep the young man at a respectful distance; for he certainly won't stay there if you don't."

Maud sat tensely still. Several moments of utter silence passed away. Then, almost under her breath, she spoke. "Are you absurd enough to be jealous?"

Jake's eyes watched her unwaveringly through the smoke. "Would it be very absurd of me?" he asked gravely.

"Utterly." She spoke the one word with a free disdain.

He bent his head slightly. "Since you say so--it goes. At the same time, it might be well for you to remember that Lord Saltash invariably hunts for himself. He is not a man that any woman can safely trust. He has his points, maybe, but--he is not sound."

Very steadily he delivered his verdict, and Maud received it in unbroken silence. More or less she knew it to be true, and yet very bitterly did she resent its utterance. It was as if he had exposed to her the worthlessness of a possession which for old sake's sake she treasured though conscious that in itself it was without value. For she had never idealized Charlie Burchester. Even in the old days of close intimacy she had always seen the feet of clay, though in her fond woman's way she had sought to overlook them. It was intolerable to have them pointed out to her by one whom she still curiously regarded as a comparative stranger.

She had nothing to say on her friend's behalf. Reason warned her that it would be useless to attempt to take up the cudgels in his defence. And so she sat in silence, inwardly burning, outwardly calm.

Jake smoked on for several minutes, then quietly rose. "I'll go up and settle the youngster now," he said. "And you have made up your mind on the other subject? I am to write to Capper?"

She did not answer for a moment; her eyes were fixed upon the fire.

He paused beside her, and again there came to her that sense of warmth, of bodily force, that seemed to reach her from the very centre of the man's being, rushing out to her, enveloping her.

She made a slight, involuntary movement of withdrawal. "I have said so," she said.

He paused no longer. "Then so be it!" he said, and walked away to the door.

CHAPTER XXIV

BROTHERS

"Is that you, Jake?"

Outraged pride and sullen submission combined in the utterance of the question. The room was in complete darkness.

"Yes, it's me," said Jake.

He went forward into the darkness, feeling out before him.

"Why don't you strike a match?" said Bunny.

Jake found the bed and stood beside it. "Going to behave yourself, my son?" he asked.

There was silence from the bed, a dogged, uncompromising silence.

Jake stooped. Feeling over the boy's body, he began to undo his bonds.

"Say, Bunny, I reckoned you were a bigger man than this," he said.

Bunny remained silent, stiff and unyielding.

Jake completed his task and stood up. "If you're wanting to tell me to go to blazes, you may as well say it as not," he said.

"I'm not," growled Bunny. "But you've no right to treat me like a dog. I'm not used to it."

"A damn' good hiding is what you're most in need of," said Jake, in his soft, imperturbable voice. "You'd learn a lot that way. There's too much pride in your family, my son, and it ain't always the proper sort of pride either. It's likely to lead you into difficulties." He paused a moment; then bent again, his hand moving lightly upwards over the bedclothes. "Say, Bunny, climb down a bit; climb down!" he said. "I can't get within a mile of you on that high horse of yours."

There was a hint of coaxing in the words and action to which Bunny taken by surprise made instant almost involuntary response. With a swift, passionate movement, he caught the persuasive hand.

"Old chap--" he said, and stopped, breaking off short.

There followed a few, pulsing seconds, during which Jake's hand was pressed hard against a burning face. Then, very suddenly Bunny cast his pride wholly from him and burst into choking tears.

"Little feller! Little feller!" said Jake, and gathered him into arms that were full of motherly comfort.

He sat down on the bed, so holding him, rocking him a little, soothing him in the darkness that seemed to banish all barriers and link them in a brotherhood more close than either had anticipated before that moment.

Bunny's surrender was complete and unconditional. He clung fast to Jake with whispered words of penitence. "I'm always like that when I feel bad. I've had that filthy neuralgia in my back ever since tea. It makes me want to bite and kick. I didn't mean to be a beast to you, Jake. I take back all I said. You'll forget it--say you'll forget it!"

"I have forgotten it," Jake assured him. "Don't you fret now!"

Bunny burrowed into his shoulder. "You're so beastly good to a fellow. But you're right--quite right--about the hiding. I only wish you could give me one. It's just that I want."

"No--no!" Jake said tenderly. "I wouldn't lay a finger on you."

"You would if I were sound," protested Bunny, strangling a sob.

But Jake shook his head. "No, sonny, no! I was wrong. It ain't the treatment for a soft-hearted little chap like you. I've been used to dealing with roughs, and I'm rough myself. I try not to be; but there it is. You've sensed it, and so has Maud. But--I say it now, and I'll stick to it--I'll never use violence to you as long as I live."

"Jake, old boy, that's rot!--I--I like you to smack my head sometimes," blurted forth Bunny, still in accents of distress.

Jake laughed a little. "Well, maybe, I'll do that now and then, seeing we're brothers." He was rubbing the head with a caressing hand as he spoke. "You know, I've got a sort of liking for you, little pard; and I want you to grow up a man."

"How can I?" said Bunny very bitterly.

"It ain't the body that makes the man," said Jake gently. "Physical conditions don't matter two cents. Reckon if you were to be a cripple all your days, you could still be a great man. But, please God, you won't be a cripple always. My friend Capper--you've heard me talk of him--he's coming over from the States, and maybe he'll be able to put you right. We'll give him the chance, eh, Bunny? We'll get him anyway to come along and look at you."

Bunny's frail body had begun to tremble. He held very fast to Jake's arm. "Oh, Jake!" he whispered.

"Guess it's a big proposition," said Jake. "But you've got spunk for anything. I'm going to send him a letter right away. Maud views the matter as we do. She says, the sooner the better."

"Whatever made her say that?" said Bunny curiously.

"She was thinking of you," said Jake. "She thinks more of you than of anyone else in the world. Reckon you owe her a mighty lot, Bunny. Ever thought of that?"

"Reckon she'd be rather lost without me," said Bunny perversely.

"Not for long," said Jake.

"She would," persisted Bunny. "If I were to get well, she'd be glad for my sake, but she'd be utterly miserable for her own."

He spoke with the shrewdness that years of passive observation had wrought in him--a shrewdness that somehow lifted him above the plane of ordinary unthinking boyhood. Almost instinctively Jake responded to it. He spoke to Bunny as though he had been a man.

"She won't be miserable when she has children of her own to look after," he said. "That's what she wants, and what I want too. They'll make all the difference in the world to her."

Bunny was momentarily surprised. This was a possibility that had not occurred to him. "Oh, that's the idea, is it?" he said.

"What's the matter with it?" said Jake.

"I don't know," said Bunny. "Somehow I don't seem to realize that she actually is married to you."

"She doesn't realize it either," said Jake rather shortly.

"That's because you don't make love to her," said Bunny wisely. "Why, you don't even kiss her, do you?"

"I haven't." Jake's voice was an odd compound of humour and dissatisfaction.

"Why on earth don't you?" said Bunny.

"You'd better ask her," said Jake somewhat grimly.

"Aren't you friends?" There was quick sympathy in the boy's voice. "I know Maud is a bit difficult to get on with. She was very odd even to Charlie this evening when he wanted us to go to the races with him. Why shouldn't we have gone, Jake? She knew I wanted to, and she used to like it herself."

An echo of resentment sounded in the question. Bunny had plainly not wholly buried his grievance.

"I'll take you one day, my son, when you're stronger," Jake promised. "And Maud too--if she's keen. I didn't know she was. She didn't tell me so."

"She doesn't tell you everything, does she?" said Bunny, giving him a squeeze.

"Reckon she's half afraid of me," said Jake. "What reason did she give for not going with Lord Saltash?"

"Oh, none. She just said we couldn't. Charlie wasn't best pleased about it. Charlie can be rather hot stuff when he isn't pleased."

Jake uttered a dry laugh. "Did he make himself unpleasant?"

"No. But he cleared out almost at once. You see, he always used to be able to twist Maud round his little finger--till she broke with him."

Jake's arms suddenly grew tense about the slim boyish body he held. "Say, young feller! Will you tell me something?" he said.

"Of course! If I can," said Bunny.

"Just this--only this," said Jake, his voice sunk to a whisper. "Have you any real reason--any good reason--for believing that Maud still cares for this old flame of hers? Honestly now! Was there any truth in what you said downstairs?"

"Oh, Jake, I'm beastly sorry I said it!" Bunny turned a distressed face upwards, pressing his hot forehead hard against Jake's neck.

"All right. You needn't answer." Jake's words seemed to come from between his teeth. "It's what I suspected all along. It won't make any difference in the end, so you needn't be upset about it. I always knew I was taking chances."

"She'd soon forget him if you started making love to her," Bunny assured him. "Why don't you, Jake? Why don't you?"

"Ah! Why don't I?" Jake uttered again his dry, somewhat scoffing laugh. "P'raps I'm waiting for someone else to make the running. But don't you bother your head about that, my son! I shall get home on the straight--or perish in the attempt."

He stooped, and laid Bunny gently down on the pillows.

"I'll light your lamp now and leave you. Maud will be up with your supper directly."

But Bunny clung to his arm. "You'll come back, Jake? You--you'll sleep with me?"

"Oh, yes, I'll sleep with you--if Maud will let me." Jake's voice held ironic humour. "But it's a sore point, I warn you."

"Of course she'll let you. She can't help herself. She knows I'm ten times more comfortable with you to look after me. It's jolly decent of you, Jake." Bunny hugged the arm a little closer. "Sure you've forgiven me for being such a beast?"

"Shucks, lad! Don't think any more about it! We're all beasts sometimes, though we don't all take the trouble to be sorry afterwards." Jake stooped abruptly and kissed his forehead--a token received by Bunny with a satisfaction as great as his surprise. "Be decent to Maud, little chap!" he said. "Remember, nearly the whole of her life has been one big sacrifice to you!"

"Oh, I know she's a brick," Bunny said quickly. "I'm awfully fond of her of course. You--I suppose you're fond of her too, Jake?"

He put the question with slight hesitation, not wholly certain as to whether Jake would welcome it, yet oddly desirous of a reply.

Jake had withdrawn his arm. He stood by the bed in the darkness, only dimly visible to Bunny--a square, powerful figure, of rock-like strength, endued with the hard endurance that springs in the wilderness and is the natural heritage of beasts and savage tribes, coming but seldom upon the sons of adoption.

He did not speak at all for several seconds, and Bunny began to wonder if he had given offence. Then suddenly he stretched out his arms with a wide, fierce gesture as of one who would seize and hold in the face of any odds.

"My God!" he said, and in his voice was a deep throb as of a force that rose unfettered from the very heart of the man. "I--worship her!"

In the awed silence that followed the words, his arms fell. He stood a second or two as one in a dream striving to grip afresh the realities of life. Then, quite calmly he turned aside and crossed the room to light the lamp.

Bunny, watching him, marvelled that the kindling flame revealed only the resolute face and steady eyes of the man he knew. For it seemed to him that another man had spoken in the darkness.

CHAPTER XXV

MISADVENTURE

Lord Saltash had the satisfaction of seeing one of his own animals a winner at the Graydown meeting on the following day, a circumstance which plainly gave him the keenest pleasure. He joined his trainer at the conclusion of the event and warmly congratulated him.

Jake was himself well-pleased. He had worked hard for the victory, and the horse was a particular favourite with him. But he did not betray any especial gratification at his patron's openly expressed approval, receiving it with the reticence that Maud had remarked in him the day before.

Lord Saltash, however, seemed bent upon breaking down all reserve. He treated him with easy familiarity, chatted upon a thousand subjects, received suggestions with cordiality, and finally, when the races were over, insisted upon motoring him home in the open car which he invariably drove himself when at Burchester, and which was the terror of the countryside.

The evening was chill and mist-laden. "With your permission we'll go steady," Jake said, as they left the teeming race-course behind.

"What! Nervous?" laughed Saltash.

"I have a wife to think of," was Jake's unmoved reply.

"Oh, to be sure!" A hint of mockery ran through the words. "What an artful fox you were to go and get married on the sly like that! If I'd known, I'd have come to the wedding."

"It wasn't much of an affair," said Jake. "And it had to take place at short notice, or I should have told you about it."

"Perhaps it wouldn't have taken place at all if you had," laughed Lord Saltash. "You know the legend of Young Lochinvar. And--" his dark face screwed up into a comic grimace--"I presume you know my reputation."

"Almost as well as I know you, my lord," said Jake drily.

Saltash sent him a sharp glance through the gathering twilight. He was driving swiftly but well. "Nobody ever really knows anybody in this world of noughts and crosses," he observed lightly after a moment. "It's a queer place, Bolton. And it isn't always the fellows that gather the fruit that enjoy the eating thereof. Ever reflected on that truism?"

"I reckon it couldn't apply to me in any case," drawled Jake, turning up his collar and settling into it with square deliberation.

"Because you're one of the favoured few?" questioned Saltash.

There was an unmistakably jeering note in his voice this time. A faint smile came into Jake's face. His eyes stared straight before him.

"Maybe so," he said. "But my opinion is, if a man can't hold his own,--well, he deserves to lose it."

Saltash laughed aloud. "It isn't always brute force that counts, most worthy cow-puncher. There is such a thing as brains."

"You don't say!" said Jake in a tone of gentle incredulity and, in a moment: "Do you mind reining in a bit? We're coming to a cross-roads."

"You're mighty nervous!" gibed Saltash.

"It's safer," said Jake imperturbably.

They dropped into silence with one consent.

Saltash was obviously inclined to recklessness though he seemed for awhile to be trying to restrain the impulse. They shot through the gathering darkness with ever-increasing speed.

Jake made no further protest. He sat sphinx-like, gazing straight ahead through the misty wind-screen. The distance from Graydown to Fairharbour was scarcely ten miles. Lord Saltash chose the shortest route, bumping through bye lanes, whizzing round unexpected corners, shooting uphill like a rocket, dropping down again like a thunderbolt.

He drove with a skill that was in its way magnificent, but the entire run was a series of risks such as only the driver could enjoy.

It was evident that he speedily forgot the presence of his companion, and Jake did not remind him of it. Perhaps he deemed it inadvisable to divert his attention in any way from the task in hand.

For nearly a quarter of an hour of rapid travelling he spoke no word. Saltash was humming to himself an old tune with a waltz refrain which seemed to give him considerable pleasure.

They were drawing near the outskirts of Burchester Park when abruptly he broke off, and spoke. "I want you to come up to lunch on Sunday, you and Maud and the boy."

He spoke jerkily, almost curtly. Jake turned his head.

"Have you put the proposition before--my wife?" he asked.

"Oh, I asked her to come of course," said Saltash carelessly. "I didn't mention any particular day. Why? Have you any reason to suppose she would refuse?"

He laughed as he said it, but there was a challenging note in his laugh.

Jake passed the question by. "It is real kind of your lordship to think of it," he said. "I can't--of course--answer for my wife or the lad; but I shall be very pleased to come."

Saltash made a curious sound half of ridicule, half of exasperation. "If she doesn't come, I shall know whose doing it is," he said, with a touch of malice.

Jake was silent.

Impatiently Saltash turned towards him. "Look here, Bolton," he said aggressively; "it's no manner of use your raising any objection to the intimacy between us. It began long before you came on the scene, and it's going to continue. Understand?"

"Look where you're going!" said Jake. "Or else jam on the brake!"

He uttered the words with a sharpness so unexpected that Saltash started. As a consequence, the car swerved and instantly skidded in the mud, jerking the wheel from his hold. In a moment they were half-way up a steep bank at the side of the road, and a moment after with a crash of splintering glass they were over, flung headlong into the roadway.

"Damn!" said Jake.

"Damnation!" cried Lord Saltash with violence. "It was your fault! What the devil did you startle me like that for?";

He sprang up with the agility of a monkey, unscathed and furious.

Jake remained seated in the mud. He was panting a little but his speech when it came was unhurried.

"What the blazes did you want to drive at that preposterous speed for, you all-fired fool?" he said.

"Eh? What?" Saltash stamped in the mud to relieve his feelings. "Do you dare to say it was my fault?"

"I say you're an all-fired fool," said Jake, with the deliberation of one who has come to an unalterable decision. "You can draw your own conclusions from that."

He proceeded to get up with an effort so obvious that Saltash's attention was caught. "Hullo! You're hurt, are you? Where?"

"I reckon that's what I've got to find out," said Jake. "Maybe it's no worse than a broken head. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm all right," Saltash declared impatiently. "I say, are you really hurt, man? Curse this dark! Wait while I strike a match!"

"Curse everything!" said Jake whole-heartedly. "I wonder if there's a lamp not smashed."

Saltash struck a match and regarded him by its flare. "Great Scott!" he ejaculated in dismay.

For the illumination had revealed to him that which he had certainly not expected to see; one side of Jake's face streaming with blood.

Jake strove ineffectually to staunch the flow with a handkerchief. "I don't know where the mischief is exactly," he said. "Somewhere above the temple, I fancy. Don't alarm yourself, my lord. I always bleed like a pig. It's my nature to."

A faint grim smile drew his mouth with the words. He looked at Saltash with eyes of steady mastery. "Let me hold that match!" he said. "P'raps you wouldn't mind locating the mischief."

Saltash, genuinely disturbed, complied with this suggestion, and discovered a deep, jagged cut on Jake's forehead.

"I say, this is a bad business!" he said, as the match went out. "Are you feeling bad?"

"Oh, not in the least," said Jake drily. "Sorry to give you so much trouble."

"My dear fellow, I'm sorrier than you are," declared Saltash impulsively. "I've driven for ten years and never had a smash before. Here, strike another match and let me see what I can do!"

It was no easy matter to bandage adequately under sock conditions, but Saltash was not without a certain rudimentary skill. He went to work with business-like promptitude, and had succeeded in securing a handkerchief round Jake's head with a firmness calculated at least to check the flow of blood when the sound of wheels warned them of the approach of some vehicle.

It proved to be the dog-cart of a farmer known to them both who was himself returning from the races; and Saltash was relieved beyond measure to bundle Jake into the cart and see him depart for home. He remained with the overturned car till help should arrive from the Stables.

Jake also was not sorry to find himself jogging homeward, unpleasant though he found the jogging to be. He was nearer to collapse than he would have allowed.

He sat with his head in his hands, struggling desperately against a deadly sense of weakness that threatened every instant to overcome him.

His companion was full of solicitude. "Whatever will your missus say?" he said, as they drew near the Stables.

Jake roused himself. "Don't drive in!" he said. "Put me down at the gates! I must make myself respectable before I go in."

"Lor' bless you man, if she's a woman of sense she'd sooner know the worst at once," declared the old farmer. "Don't ever try to hide anything from your wife! It don't pay. I've been married three times, so I ought to know."

But Jake adhered firmly to his intention of descending at the gates, resolutely declining all further help; and there his friend left him, driving away with the reflection that there was sure to be someone about to give him a hand.

As it chanced, there was no one in the stable-yard when Jake entered it. He staggered forward over the stones like a drunken man, his cap pulled forward over his face, feeling vaguely out before him with his hands. His brain was reeling, and he did not know how he covered the ground or maintained his balance. So dazed was he that he did not even realize that he reached the white railings before his home, and only awoke to the fact when he had been leaning upon them for some time.

With an immense effort he pulled himself together and made his way to the door. Here the thought of Maud made him pause. She must not see him like this. Then, reflecting that she would almost certainly be safe upstairs with Bunny who had not left his room that day, he fumbled with the door, opened it, and entered.

All was quiet within with the quiet of a well-ordered household. The passage was dimly lit. Slowly he made his halting way along it, reached the stairs and stopped at the foot, leaning on the banisters while he summoned his strength. At last, heavily, like a man in a trance, he began to mount.

The stairs seemed endless. Once or twice he stumbled. At the top he slipped and came down upon his knees.

"Oh damn!" he ejaculated, with weary vehemence.

At the same moment Bunny's door opened, and he heard the light tread of a woman's feet close to him.

She was coming towards him, moving swiftly, when suddenly something seemed to strike her. She stopped dead, recoiling as from a thing unclean.

"Jake!" she said.

He heard the frozen horror in her voice and thrust out a groping hand. "It's all right, my girl. Don't be scared! I didn't mean you to see me--like this."

She drew back from him sharply, speaking no word, gazing at him in the dim light with eyes of wide abhorrence.

"It's--all right," he said again, and with a labouring effort managed to blunder to his feet.

She drew back still further. He saw her slim white figure standing before him erect and rigid against the wall. He caught the blazing scorn of her blue eyes.

"Say, Maud," he said in confused apology, "you're looking kind of vexed. It wasn't--any fault of mine. It was--it was--that fool--Saltash." He spoke the name with difficulty. His tongue felt dry and powerless. "Guess I want a drink," he said.

She spoke then, briefly and witheringly. "You had better go to bed and stay there till you feel better. There is plenty of water in your room if you want it."

Her words were icy. He felt as if she had flung the water of which she spoke full in his face. And then suddenly the truth flashed upon him, and he uttered a laugh.

"Columbus!" he said. "I believe you think I'm tipsy!"

She did not attempt to contradict him. "You had better go to bed," she reiterated.

He put up a trembling hand, but it was only to draw the cap down further still over his face. "I reckon I'd better," he said, and staggered past her to his room.

The door closed behind him, and Maud turned, white and quivering, from the scene.

"O God!" she whispered passionately. "What have I done? What have I done?"

CHAPTER XXVI

THE WORD UNSPOKEN

It was late that night when Mrs. Lovelace called Maud out of Bunny's room with a white, scared face to tell her that Lord Saltash was below asking for her.

"He wanted Mr. Bolton first," she said, "but I told him as I didn't know if he was back, and then he said something about a slight motor accident and seemed surprised like that Mr. Bolton hadn't come home."

"It's all right. He is home," Maud said. "There is no need to be anxious about him." She hesitated a moment; then: "Tell Lord Saltash so!" she said. "I think I won't come down now. He will understand."

Nevertheless, after she had dismissed the old woman, something prompted her to go and listen at Jake's door. She was convinced in her own mind that there had been no accident. Charlie had seen her husband's condition and was anxious to know if he had returned home safely. That was the explanation, doubtless, and she felt she could not face him.

She listened intently, but she heard no sound. Jake was sleeping no doubt, sleeping heavily. An overwhelming disgust came upon her. She turned shuddering away.

Mrs. Lovelace came wheezing back. Lord Saltash had gone. Was Mr. Bolton all right? Should she fetch him anything?

No, Maud was quite sure he wanted nothing. He was asleep and Mrs. Lovelace had better go to bed.

But she herself remained up till long after, in dread of a summons for Jake from Sam Vickers or some other of the men at the Stables. Probably they all suspected what had happened, but she felt that at all costs she must prevent the shameful certainty reaching them. It was too horrible, too lowering to her own personal pride. Very strangely it was that overpowering sense of shame that first made her realize the man as her husband. He had dragged her into the mire, and though her whole soul revolted she felt with a sinking despair that she could never be clean again. She was bound to him for better for worse, and nothing could ever set her free. She was, as it were, identified with him, and the evil of his nature must lie upon her like a taint. There could be no escape for her, loathe him as she might.

She lay down at last sick at heart and full of a great bitterness. Life was horrible, life was repulsive. Whichever way she turned some evil monster crouched across her path.

Bunny was restless and querulous throughout the night. He was deeply hurt by Jake's desertion, and, though he forebore to say so, he plainly regarded his sister as a very poor substitute.

"I shan't get up till Jake comes to see me," he announced in the morning.

And Maud went down to fetch his breakfast with a reluctant promise to inform Jake of this intention if she saw him.

She hoped very earnestly that she would not see him, but her hope was not to be fulfilled. Coming from the kitchen with Bunny's breakfast-tray, she almost ran into him. He had evidently just entered the house, and was hanging up his cap on the rack that stood in the darkest corner of the passage.

He stood back for her to pass him. "Good morning!" he said.

Her face was burning. So great was her agitation for the moment that she thought she must drop the tray she held.

Jake evidently thought so too, for he reached out and steadily took it from her. "I'll take up this," he said. "I want to see the little chap. Do you mind going into the parlour? I shall be down directly."

He spoke in his customary slightly sing-song drawl. She longed to refuse, but could not. With an inarticulate murmur she turned aside.

In the parlour the fire burned brightly. She went and stood before it, striving desperately for composure. She would have given all she had to escape the coming interview. But she knew she could not, knew she must face it, listen to semi-humorous excuses, possibly a good-natured apology for an offence which she regarded as inexcusable, hideous.

With all her strength she fought for self-control. She must make it clear to him, must somehow make him understand that this thing had raised up a barrier between them that could never be broken down, an immovable obstacle to all intimacy, a perpetual stumbling-block to friendship. He had brought it on himself and never--never--never could it now be otherwise. They had never been very near, but now they were as far asunder as the poles. No kindness from him could ever make her forget.

She heard him descending the stairs, and braced herself with a throbbing heart to meet him. But she was trembling in every limb.

She did not turn to greet him as he entered, but kept her face resolutely averted.

He came in, closed the door with evident purpose, and drew near to her. She shrank at his coming. A quick involuntary shudder went through her. She stiffened herself instinctively.

He spoke, in his voice a soft, half-wheedling note of remonstrance. "Say, Maud, it ain't--altogether--reasonable to condemn a man unheard."

Her breath came short. She would not look at him. With a quivering effort she spoke. "I don't see any point in discussing the obvious. I am bound to believe the evidence of my own eyes."

"Without doubt," conceded Jake. "And they testified to my being screwed last night?"

"You can't--with truth--assert that you were sober," she said.

Jake did not make the assertion. He stood considering. After a moment: "Do you object so strongly to the sight of me that you can't bear to look at me?" he asked.

His tone was faintly humorous. She resented it on the instant, hotly, almost fiercely. It was so exactly the attitude that she had anticipated.

"I do object--yes," she said, her voice low and vehement. "I can't think how you can have the effrontery to speak to me until I give you leave."

"That so?" he said.

There was insolence in his tone this time. She turned and faced him. Then she saw a large cross of strapping-plaster across his temple. She looked at it a moment ere defiantly she met his eyes.

"I suppose you are going to make that your excuse," she said.

"I was," said Jake imperturbably.

She bit her lip. His utter lack of shame made her pitiless. "If I hadn't met you on the stairs last night, I might believe you," she said.

"You're real kind," he rejoined. "As a matter of fact I didn't cut my head open tumbling upstairs, but I reckon that detail won't interest you. You'll think what you want to think, whatever I say. And p'raps, as you say, there's not much point in discussing the obvious. Shall we have some breakfast?"

His eyes shone with a mocking gleam into hers. She was sure he was laughing inwardly, though his mouth was grim.

"I shall breakfast upstairs," she said coldly.

He made a slight movement that passed unexplained. "Oh, I think not," he said suavely. "It won't hurt you any to sit at table with me. I am a very ordinary sinner, I assure you."

Something in his tone made her flinch. The colour went out of her face. She turned without a word to the table.

They sat down, and he helped her to food, she knew not what. There followed a silence that she felt to be terrible, a silence through which it came to her for the first time in her experience that Jake was angry. She looked at him no longer, but she felt as if his eyes were upon her unceasingly.

"What about coffee, Mrs. Bolton?" he said suddenly.

She gave a great start. The coffee-urn was in front of her. She proceeded to pour out for him, the cup clattering in the saucer she held.

He did not move to take it; she rose, as if compelled, and carried it to him.

As she set it down, his hand suddenly descended upon hers. He looked up into her face, faintly smiling.

"Maud, my girl, don't be such a fool!" he said. "Can't you see you're making a mistake?"

She froze in his grasp. "Don't touch me, please!" she said. "You--I--see things from a different standpoint. It may seem a small matter to you, but to me--to me--" She stopped. "Let me go!" she said, with a nervous effort to free herself.

But he held her still. "Say, now, do you think you're wise to treat me like this?" he said. "You've got to put up with me, remember. Wouldn't it be to your own interest to give me the benefit of the doubt?"

"There is no doubt," she said, speaking quickly, breathlessly. "You haven't tried to deny it. As to--to--putting up with you--" the hand he held clenched convulsively--"I have a little self-respect----"

"Call it pride!" interjected Jake softly.

She looked at him with eyes of burning revolt. "Very well. Call it pride! And understand that if this shameful thing ever occurs again, neither Bunny nor I can stay with you any longer!"

Quiveringly the words rushed out. He had goaded her into uttering an ultimatum that she had never contemplated addressing to him at the commencement of the interview and the moment that she had uttered it she knew that she had done wrong. The red-brown eyes uplifted to hers suddenly kindled. He looked at her with a fiery intensity that sent the blood to her heart in a wave of wild dismay.

His hand closed like a steel spring upon her wrist. "So, you think you'll make a fool of me!" he said, and in his voice there sounded a deep note that was like the menace of an angry beast. "All right, my girl! You just try it! You'll find it an interesting experiment if a bit costly."

"Are you--coward enough--to threaten me?" she said, through panting lips.

"Reckon you've done all the threatening this journey," Jake rejoined, with a smile that made her shiver. "It wasn't exactly a wise move on your part, but p'raps you'll think better of it presently."

He let her go, with the words, and she went back to her place, outwardly calm, inwardly shaking.

Jake proceeded with his breakfast in a silence so absorbed that it was almost as if he had forgotten her presence altogether. It was never a lengthy meal with him. He ate and drank with business-like rapidity, not noticing that she did neither.

Finally he rose. "I shall come in presently to see if Bunny wants to come down," he said. "But the little chap doesn't look up to much this morning. He'll have to take it easy."

Maud did not respond. She sat rigidly gazing towards the window.

Jake stood a moment, waiting for her to turn, but she made no movement. He came quietly round to her, bent over her chair.

"Say, Maud, you aren't going to keep it up? That's not like you. I'll tell you all that happened last night if you'll listen."

She made a slight gesture of distaste. Her face was white and cold as marble. "I would rather not hear, thank you," she said, without looking at him. "I would rather you went away."

Jake stood up. There was no longer any suggestion of anger or any other emotion about him. His eyes glittered like red quartz in the sun; but his brow was absolutely unruffled.

"Well," he said, in a very pronounced drawl, "I should have some breakfast if I were you, and see how I felt then. It's wonderful what a difference breakfast makes."

He turned away with the words; she heard him go with relief.

On the other side of the door was the red setter, Chops. He pushed his way in with a passing smile at his master, who had conferred the freedom of the house upon him since Bunny's advent, to Mrs. Lovelace's prim disgust.

Jake made no attempt to hinder his entrance. He knew that Chops possessed privileges of friendship denied to himself. He closed the door upon him and departed.

Chops, after a cursory glance round for Bunny, came to the feet of his mistress. He looked at her with soft, questioning eyes, then, as she made no response, sat gravely down before her and rested his red, silken head upon her lap.

She looked down at him then. Her hand went forth to caress. He snuggled closer, sensing trouble, and breathed wistful greetings through his nose. His eyes, clear brown and full of love, looked up to hers.

The rigidity went out of her attitude. She bent suddenly over him and kissed him, touched by the honest devotion and sympathy of those eyes. By the simple method of offering all he had, Chops had managed to convey a little comfort to her soul.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE TOKEN

"Why wouldn't you see me last night?" said Saltash.

He sat on the corner of the table, swinging a careless leg the while under quizzical brows he watched Maud arrange a great bunch of violets in a bowl. The violets were straight from the Burchester frames, and he had ridden over to present them.

Maud was plainly in a reticent mood. She had accepted the gift indeed, but with somewhat distant courtesy.

"It was late," she said. "And I was attending to Bunny."

"Bunny!" He echoed the name with half-mocking surprise. "Does he still engross the whole of your energies? I thought you would have been more occupied with Jake."

She stiffened ever so slightly at his words. "I only saw him for a few moments," she said.

"What! Didn't he come to you to tie up his broken head?" said Saltash. "I nearly killed him, you know. But it was his own fault."

"I am aware of that," Maud said coldly.

"What!" ejaculated Saltash again. "Did he have the impertinence to tell you so?"

She raised her eyes momentarily; they shone almost black. "He told me--nothing," she said, her voice deep with a concentrated bitterness that made him stare. "He was not in a condition to do so."

Saltash continued to stare. "He was talkative enough when he left me," he remarked.

Her eyes gazed full into his. "Why should you try to deceive me?" she said. "Really, you needn't take the trouble."

Comprehension dawned on his face. He laughed a little in an amused fashion as if to himself. "What! Wasn't the rascal sober when he got back?"

"You know he was not," she said.

"I know he tumbled out of the car and cracked his head," said Saltash. "I daresay he'd been celebrating the Mascot's victory. They all do, you know. But, my dear girl, what of it? Don't look so tragic! You'll get used to it."

"Don't!" Maud said suddenly in a voice that shook. "You make me--sick."

She bent her face swiftly to the violets, and there was a silence.

Saltash continued to swing his leg, his lips pursed to am inaudible whistle. Suddenly he spoke. "Please remember that this is quite unofficial! I don't want a row with Jake!"

"You needn't be afraid," she said, putting the bowl of violets steadily from her. "No more will be said on the subject by either of us."

"I'm not afraid." Saltash was looking at her hard, with a certain curiosity. "But with my best friend tied to him for life, it wouldn't--naturally--be to my interest to quarrel with him."

She flashed him a sudden glance. "I think you had better not call me that, Charlie," she said.

He laughed carelessly. "I'll call you my dearest enemy, if you like. It would be almost as near the mark."

She was silent.

He bent suddenly towards her, the laugh gone from his face. "Maud," he said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice, "you're not wanting to throw me over?"

She shook her head very slightly. "I can't be on really intimate terms with you any more," she said. "You must see it's impossible."

"No, I don't," he said. "Why is it impossible?"

She did not answer.

"Come," he said. "That's unreasonable. What have I done to forfeit your friendship?"

She leaned slowly back in her chair, and met his eyes. "I am quite willing to be friends," she said. "But--now that I am married--you mustn't try to flirt with me. I detest married women's flirtations."

He made a wry grimace. "My precious prude, you don't even know the meaning of the word. Did you ever flirt with anyone in all your pure, sweet life? The bare idea is ludicrous."

Maud's eyes held his with severity. "No, I never flirted with you, Charlie," she said. "But I gave you privileges which I can never give again, which you must never again expect of me. Is that quite clear?"

He stooped towards her, his hands upon her shoulders; his dark face deeply glowing. "O Maud, the sincere!" he said, in a voice that vibrated with an odd intensity, half-fierce, half-feigned. "Dare you look me in the face and tell me that in marrying you have not done violence to your soul?"

She looked him in the face with absolute steadiness. "I have nothing whatever to tell you," she said.

He released as suddenly as he had taken her. "There is no need," he said. "I can read you like a book. I know that if I had been at hand when your mother brought you down here--as heaven knows I would have been if I had known--if I had guessed--you would have been ready enough to marry even me." He stopped, and over his ugly, comic face there came a strangely tragic look. "You could have dictated your own terms too," he said. "I'm not hard to please."

"Charlie, hush!" Sharply she broke in upon him. "That is a forbidden subject. I told you definitely long ago that I could never marry you. You know as well as I do that it wouldn't have answered. You would have tired very quickly of my prim ways--just as you did tire in the old days when you fancied you cared for me. I couldn't have satisfied you. I am not the kind of woman you crave for."

"No?" He laughed whimsically. "Yet, you know, you are unjust to me--always were. I don't know that you can help it, being what you are. But--if it had been my good luck to marry you--I would have been faithful to you. It's in my bones to be faithful to one woman. However, since she is denied me--" he snapped his fingers with an airy gesture--"je m'amuse autrement. By the way, are you coming up to lunch at the Castle on Sunday?"

"I?" She raised her brows momentarily. "No, I don't think so," she said.

"What! You won't? Jake's coming."

She lowered her eyes. "No, Charlie," she said firmly. "Bunny has had one of his bad attacks. He won't be well enough for any excitement, and of course I couldn't dream of leaving him."

"How you do worship that boy!" said Saltash, with a touch of impatience.

Maud was silent.

"Look here!" he said abruptly. "Why don't you have a proper opinion for Bunny? I'll lend you the wherewithal. I'm quite well off just now."

She looked up then with eyes of frank gratitude. "Charlie, that's more than kind of you! But as a matter of fact--Jake has the matter in hand. He knows an American surgeon--a very clever man--a Dr. Capper, who is coming to England soon. And he is going to get him to come and examine Bunny. He--it is really very good of Jake."

She spoke haltingly, with flushed cheeks. Saltash was watching her with critical eyes.

"Oh, so the worthy Jake has the matter in hand, has he?" he said, as she paused. "Wise man! I suppose it is no part of his plans to be hampered with a helpless brother-in-law all his days."

She broke in upon him swiftly. "Charlie! That is ungenerous!"

He laughed. "My dear girl, it is the obvious. Were I in Jake's position, my first thought would be to relieve you of the all-engrossing care of Bunny. You don't suppose he married you just to make a home for Bunny, do you?"

She rose quickly and turned from him. "Why do you try to make things harder for me?" she said in a voice of passionate protest.

Saltash remained seated, still swinging an idle leg. "On the contrary, I am anxious to make everything as pleasant as possible," he said.

But there was a slightly malicious twist to his smile and his voice was suavely mocking, notwithstanding.

Maud moved from him to the window and stood before it very still, with a queenly pose of bearing wholly unconscious, unapproachably aloof.

He watched her for a space, an odd, dancing gleam in his strange eyes. At length, as she made no movement, he spoke again, not wholly lightly.

"See here, Maud! As a proof of my goodness of heart where you are concerned, I am going to make you an offer. This doctor man will probably want to perform an operation on Bunny, and it couldn't possibly take place here. So if it comes to that, will you let it be done at the Castle? There's room for an army of nurses there. The whole place is at your disposal--and Bunny's. And I'll undertake not to get in the way. Come, be friends with me! You know I am as harmless as a dove in your sweet company."

He stood up with the words, came impulsively to her, took her hand and, bending with a careless grace, kissed it.

She started at his touch, seemed as it were to emerge from an evil dream. She met his laughing eyes, and smiled as though in spite of herself.

"You are going to be friends with me," said Saltash, with pleased conviction.

She left her hand in his. "If you don't suggest--impossible things," she said.

He laughed carelessly, satisfied that he had scored a point. "Nonsense! Why should I? Is life so hard?"

"I think it is," she said sadly.

"It's only your point of view," he said. "Don't take things too seriously! And above all, stick to your friends!"

She looked at him very earnestly. "Will you be a true friend to me, Charlie?"

He bent, pressing her hand to his heart. "None so true as I!" he said.

She caught back a sigh. "I want a friend--terribly," she said.

"Behold me!" said Saltash.

She drew her hand slowly from him. "But don't make love to me!" she urged pleadingly. "Not even in jest! Let me trust you! Let me lean on you! Don't--don't trifle with me! I can't bear it!"

Her voice trembled suddenly. Her eyes filled with tears.

Saltash made a quick gesture as if something had hurt him. "I am not always trifling when I jest," he said. "That is the mistake you always made."

Maud was silent, struggling for self-command. Yet after a moment she gave him her hand again in mute response to his protest.

He took it, held it a moment or two, then let it go.

"And you will consider my suggestion with regard to Bunny," he said.

She replied with an effort, "Yes, I will consider it."

"Good!" he said. "Talk it over with Jake! If he doesn't view it reasonably, send him to me! But I think he will, you know. I think he will."

He turned as if to go; but paused and after a moment turned back. With an air half-imperious, half-whimsical, he held out upon the palm of his hand the sapphire and diamond ring which till that moment he had worn.

"As a token of the friendship between us," he said, "will you take this back? No, don't shake your head! It means nothing. But I wish you to have it, and--if ever the need should arise--the need of a friend, remember!--send it to me!"

She looked at him with serious eyes. "Charlie, I would rather not."

"It isn't sentiment," he said, with a quick lift of the brows. "It is a token--just a token whereby you may test my friendship." Then, as she still stood dubious: "Here, take it! He is coming."

He almost thrust it upon her, and wheeled round. She did not want to take it, but the thing was in her hand. Her fingers closed upon it almost mechanically as Jake opened the door, and as they did so she was conscious of a great flood of colour that rose and covered face and neck. She turned her back to the light as one ashamed.

Jake came in slowly, as if weary.

Saltash greeted him with airy nonchalance. "Hullo, Bolton! I came round to enquire for you. How's the broken crown?"

Jake's eyes regarded him, bright, unswervingly direct. "I reckon that was real kind of your lordship," he said. "I had it stitched this morning. I am sorry I omitted to send help along last night."

Saltash laughed. "Oh, that's all right. I hardly expected it of you. As a matter of fact the car didn't turn over as you supposed. I soon righted her. You were a bit damaged, eh?"

Jake's eyes were still upon him. There was something formidable in their straight survey. "So the car didn't turn over," he said, after a moment.

"No. If you'd hung on a bit tighter, you wouldn't have been pitched out. Old Harris brought you safe home, did he? No further mishaps by the way?"

"None," said Jake. He advanced into the room, and stopped by the table. His riding-whip was in his hand. "I came home too dazed to give an intelligible account of myself," he said, speaking very deliberately, wholly without emotion. "My wife imagined that I was not sober. Will your lordship be good enough to convince her that she was mistaken?"

"I?" said Saltash.

"You, my lord." Jake stood at the table, square and determined. "I was in your company. You can testify--if you will--that up to the time of the accident I was in a perfectly normal condition. Will you tell her so?"

Saltash was facing him across the table. There was a queer look on his swarthy face, a grimace half-comic, half-dismayed.

As Jake ended his curt appeal he shrugged and spoke. "You are putting me in a very embarrassing position."

"I am sorry," said Jake steadily. "But you are the only witness that I can call."

"And why should she accept my testimony?" said Saltash. "Evidence given, so to speak, at the sword's point, my good Bolton, is seldom worth having. Moreover, if she had seen my crazy driving last night she might have been disposed to doubt whether my own condition were above suspicion."

"I see," said Jake slowly. He still looked hard into Saltash's face, and there was that in the look that quelled derision. "In that case, there is nothing more to be said."

Saltash made him a slight bow that was not without a touch of hauteur. "I quite agree with you. It is an unprofitable subject. With Mrs. Bolton's permission I will take my leave."

He turned to her, took and pressed her hand, sent a sudden droll smile into her grave face, and walked to the door.

Jake held it open for him, but very abruptly Saltash clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come along, man! I'm going round the Stables. I'm sorry you've got a sore head, but I'm off to town this afternoon, so it's now or never. By the way, we shall have to postpone the luncheon-party til a more convenient season. I've no doubt it's all the same to you."

He had his way. Jake went with him, and Maud drew a breath of deep relief. She felt that another private interview with her husband just then would have been unendurable.

She sat down and leaned upon the table, feeling weak and unnerved. Not till several minutes had passed did she awake to the fact that she was holding Saltash's ring--that old dear gift of his--tightly clasped within her quivering hands.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE VISITOR

"I do hope as I don't intrude," said Mrs. Wright, passing her handkerchief over her shining forehead. "I didn't mean to take the liberty of calling, Mrs. Bolton, but your husband met my Tom the other day, and something he let fall made me think p'raps you'd be finding it a bit lonely; so I thought I'd come up on the chance."

"It was very kind of you," Maud said.

She sat with her visitor in the little dark front room in which Jake kept his business books, his whips, and all the paraphernalia of his calling. It was a bare, office-like apartment, and reeked horribly of Jake's tobacco; but Bunny was lying in the parlour and he had strenuously set his face against admitting the worthy Mrs. Wright there.

It was extremely cold, and Maud felt pinched and inhospitable. The grate was full of shavings, the whole place was cheerless and forlorn. It was a room that she scarcely ever entered, regarding it in fact more as Jake's office than an alternative sitting-room.

Mrs. Wright, however, stout, red, comfortable, did not feel the cold. She sat with her umbrella propped against her chair and regarded her stiff young hostess with much geniality on her homely face.

"You do look like a princess in a cottage, my dear, if you'll allow me to say so," she said. "And how are you getting on? I hope Jake's a good husband to you. I feel sure he would be. He's such an honest fellow. I often says to Tom, 'Give me a plain honest man like Jake Bolton,' I says; 'he's a man in a thousand.' I'm sure you think so yourself, Mrs. Bolton."

Maud, not knowing quite what to say, replied with reserve that she had no doubt he was. She was wondering if she could possibly offer Mrs. Wright tea in that dreadful little room of Jake's and if she would ever get rid of her if she didn't.

Mrs. Wright, serenely unconscious of the troublous question vexing her soul, went comfortably on. "I've often thought that if it had pleased the Almighty to send me a daughter, Jake's just the man I would have chosen for her. I like them eyes of his. They're so straight. But mind you, I think he has a temper of his own. Mayhap you've never met with it yet?"

She looked at Maud slyly out of merry little slits of eyes, and chuckled at the flush that rose in the girl's face.

"He certainly never loses it in my presence," Maud said stiffly.

Mrs. Wright's chuckle became a laugh. "Lor', my dear, you needn't be shy with me. He worships you; now, don't he? I saw that the first time I laid eyes on you. That was when you was waiting for him to come and take you in to supper, and my Tom came first. I said to myself then, 'Ah, Jake, young man, it's plain to see where your fancy lies.' And I laughed to myself," said Mrs. Wright, still chuckling. "For I couldn't help thinking he was ambitious to lift his eyes to a real lady. Not that in my opinion a man who is a man isn't good enough for any woman, and I'm sure you think the same. And then, you know, he's that fond of children, is Jake. The wonder to my mind is not that he's married now, but that he stayed single so long."

"He is very fond of my young brother," Maud observed.

"Ah! Is he now? The poor little lad is a cripple, isn't he? Many's the time I've watched you go by my shop-window. It's the wool shop at the corner of East Street with one window that looks over the sea. I used to wish you'd drop in to buy something, my dear; but you never did. P'raps now you'll manage to find your way round there some day."

"Thank you," Maud said. "But I so seldom go anywhere. My brother takes up all my time."

Mrs. Wright's rubicund face took a look of disappointment, but she still smiled; it was a face that lent itself to smiles. "It isn't to be expected that he'd want to come," she said. "But I'd be very pleased to see you both any time. What a good sister you are to him, my dear! I hope as he appreciates you."

Maud's heart smote her suddenly. She realized that she had been ungracious. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Wright," she said, with more of cordiality than she had yet shown. "I will try to run in some day."

Mrs. Wright looked enchanted on the instant. "My dear, I'd be delighted! Come any time of day, just when it suits you! Tom and me, we live alone now. He's such a good son. He keeps a hair-dresser's saloon, you know, at the side of the shop. That's how we come to know Mr. Bolton. He comes as regular as possible every third week to have his hair cut. Such a head of hair it is--hair such as a woman would give her eyes for. It's to be hoped he'll get a little daughter some day, as'll take after him. Your eyes and his hair--wouldn't she be a picture!"

Maud's geniality passed like a light extinguished. She became statuesque. "How soon the light goes!" she said, with a glance towards the darkening window.

"Yes; don't it?" said Mrs. Wright.

There fell a silence most unusual with Mrs. Wright. With an effort Maud dispelled it.

"We are very much interested in the horses. You heard of the Mascot's victory at Graydown?"

Mrs. Wright came out of her silence, shook herself together, as it were, and smiled again. "Now, isn't that nice for Jake? He's that wrapped up in the animals, and to have you interested in 'em too! Now I should be jealous of 'em if it was me!"

It was at this point that Jake himself threw open the door and entered, stopping short within the room in surprise to find it occupied.

Mrs. Wright laughed aloud. "There, now! You didn't expect to find me in possession, did you? How de do, Jake? What's happened to your head?"

Jake advanced with extended hand. "Hullo, it's Mother Wright!" he said, and to Maud's amazement stooped and kissed her. "If this isn't a real pleasure! But what are you doing in here? My head made a hole in the road coming home from the races the other night, and it is still too sore a subject for discussion."

"Now--now, Jake!" protested Mrs. Wright.

"Fact!" he assured her, with the candid smile that Maud had seen but little of late. "But now what are you doing in here, I want to know? This place is like a vault. Come along into the parlour and have some tea!"

He had not so much as glanced at Maud; she spoke suddenly, with nervous haste. "Bunny is in the parlour, Jake. He may be dozing."

"We'll soon wake him up," said Jake,

He drew Mrs. Wright's tightly-gloved hand through his arm and turned to the door. But she held him back, laughing.

"Jake! Jake! You've forgotten something."

"What's that?" said Jake.

She told him amid many fat chuckles. "Why, you've kissed me, and you haven't kissed your wife. Come, now, that's not right, and you but just married. I know you're wanting to, so don't be shy! I've been a bride myself, and I know all about it."

She would have withdrawn her hand from Jake's arm, but he would not suffer it.

"No, no!" he said, with a careless laugh. "We don't do our kissing in public. Guess it isn't a genial enough atmosphere either. Come along, Mother! You'll perish in here."

He led her from the room, still without glancing in Maud's direction, and drew her along the narrow passage to the door of the parlour.

Maud followed with a stateliness that veiled a burning embarrassment.

She listened for Bunny's voice at the opening of the door, and instantly heard it raised in cracked remonstrance.

"Here, I say! Don't bring anyone in here! Oh, it's you, Jake! I thought it was Maud. I thought----"

His voice suddenly ended in what she felt to be the silence of disgust, and Jake's accents very measured, very determined, took up the tale.

"This is my young brother-in-law, Mrs. Wright, Sir Bernard Brian, commonly called Bunny. Well, Bunny, my lad, I've brought you a visitor to tea."

Bunny growled an inarticulate response, and Mrs. Wright covered all deficiencies with her cheery chuckle.

"So nice to see you so cosy and comfortable, my dear. I hope as I'm not intruding too much. Do you know, Jake, I don't think I'd better stop to tea? It's getting dark, and Tom'll be wondering."

"Let him wonder!" said Jake. "I'll see you home all in good time. You know you always have tea when you come to see me. It's seldom enough you come too. Maud," for the first time he addressed her directly, and in his voice was a new note of authority such as she had never heard before, "order the tea, will you? We will have it at once."

It was a distinct command. Maud's delicate neck stiffened instinctively. She crossed the room in silence, and rang the bell.

The summons was answered with unusual promptitude by Mrs. Lovelace, who entered with the supper-cloth on her arm and was greeted by the visitor with much joviality.

"How is it I never see you round our way, Sarah? Have you quite forgotten your old friends?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Wright, ma'am," said Mrs. Lovelace, dexterously flinging her cloth over the table. "But I've been a bit busy, you see, what with one thing and another, and me time's been occupied."

"What on earth are you spreading that cloth for?" here broke in Bunny, in irritable astonishment. "We never have that for tea."

Mrs. Lovelace looked at him with dignity and hitched one shoulder. "We always has a good spread when Mrs. Wright comes to see the master," she said, in a tone that conveyed a distinct reproof for ill-timed interference.

Bunny subsided into sullen silence, and Mrs. Wright laughed again. "I remember as it always used to be a heavy tea," she said. "But I don't suppose a young gentleman like you would know what such things mean. Now, I do hope you won't put yourself out on my account, Mrs. Bolton. It's true I'm not accustomed to drawing-room meals, never had tea on my lap in my life. But there, you might say as I haven't got much lap left to have it on. Is that sardines you've got there, Sarah? Ah, you always remember my pet weakness. Well, Jake, my dear, I haven't congratulated you yet on your marriage. I hope it's going to be a very prosperous one. I don't doubt as you've got a wife to be proud of, and I hope you'll pull together well and make each other happy and comfortable; and may you have your heart's desire, Jake, which--if I know you properly--isn't very far to seek!"

"That's real kind of you, Mother," said Jake sombrely.

He had seated himself near Bunny whose brows were drawn in an ominous scowl.

In spite of the fire that roared up the chimney, the atmosphere was very far from being a genial one. Jake's eyes, compellingly bright, were fixed upon Maud, who though burningly conscious of his regard refused persistently to raise her own. She was bitterly resentful of Jake's attitude. It placed her in an intolerable position from which she felt herself powerless to break free. She had no desire to treat this impossible old woman churlishly, but somehow Jake forced her to a more acute realization of the great gulf that stretched between them. She could not even pretend to be cordial in his presence. She sat tongue-tied. Mrs. Wright, however, chatted on with the utmost complacence. She was plainly quite at her ease with Jake and she kept the conversation going without an effort, despite Maud's obvious embarrassment and Bunny's evident impatience.

She made a hearty meal, urged on by Jake who presently bestowed the whole of his attention upon her, seeming to dismiss his wife and brother-in-law from his mind.

"I really must be going," she declared at length, having detailed all the local gossip she could think of for his delectation. "You shouldn't encourage me so, Jake. I'm sure you'll all be tired out."

"I reckon you're just the most welcome visitor that ever darkens my doors," said Jake, rising with her. "Now, you're not to hurry. I'm going to tell them to put the horse in."

"No, no, Jake, my dear, don't you! I'd sooner walk. I would indeed. It does me good, and it's too cold to-night for driving. No, and I'm not going to let you see me home either. I'd know the way blindfold, and I'm not that nervous. Oh, there now! What's this?"

Mrs. Lovelace had just thrown open the door with some pomp. She entered, bearing an enormous bunch of violets which she proceeded to present to Maud with the ceremonious announcement: "Lord Saltash's compliments, ma'am, and will you do him the honour to accept these?"

"Oh my! How lovely!" cried Mrs. Wright.

Maud said nothing. She took the violets and held them up to her face.

Jake glanced at her momentarily, and thence to Mrs. Lovelace who had come forward to help Mrs. Wright into her cloak.

"Is Lord Saltash at the door?" he asked.

Mrs. Lovelace gave a start, as if something in the query surprised her. "No sir, the flowers was brought by a groom," she said.

Jake said no more, but something in his silence sent the ever-ready colour flooding Maud's face and neck. She bent a little lower over the violets, saying no word.

Mrs. Wright came clumsily into the breach. "But aren't they lovely, to be sure? Never did I see such beauties. And the scent of 'em, why, the room is full of it! Isn't that kind of Lord Saltash now?"

"They have a great quantity at the Castle," Maud said in muffled tones.

She held the flowers for Mrs. Wright to smell, and at the same moment Jake reached forth and took them from her outstretched hand.

"You take 'em if you like 'em, Mother. We get more of 'em than we want," he said, in leisurely tones, and thrust the bouquet forthwith into her astonished grasp.

"Oh, my dear!" cried Mrs. Wright, between dismay and delight. "But--but they was a present to Mrs. Bolton. I couldn't really! No, that I couldn't!"

"Take 'em!" Jake said. He was smiling a smile of deadly determination and his leisurely utterance held something of a fateful quality that induced Mrs. Wright to hush her remonstrances and turn appealingly to Maud.