He stooped with the words and ere she knew it his lips were on her own. But his kiss, though tender, was as baffling as his smile. It was not the kiss of a lover.
She gasped and shrank away. "Your—wife! You—you—you're joking! How could I—I—be your wife?"
"You and none other!" he declared gaily. "Egad, it's the very thing for us! Why did I never think of it before? I will order the state-coach at once. We will go to town—elope and be married before the world begins to buzz. What are you frightened at, sweetheart? Why this alarm? Wouldn't you rather be my wife than—the dust beneath my feet?"
"I—I don't know," faltered Toby, and hid her face from the dancing raillery in his eyes.
His hold was close and sheltering, but he laughed at her without mercy. "Does the prospect make you giddy? You will soon get over that. You will take the world by storm,mignonne. You will be the talk of the town."
"Oh, no!" breathed Toby. "No, I couldn't!"
"What?" he jested. "You are going to refuse my suit?"
She turned and clung to him with a passionate, even fierce intensity, but she did not lift her face again to his. Her voice came muffled against his breast. "I could never refuse you—anything."
"Eh, bien!Then all is well!" he declared. "My bride will hold her own wherever she goes, save with her husband. And to him she will yield her wifely submission at all times. Do you know what they will say—all of them—when they hear that Charles Rex is married at last?"
"What?" whispered Toby apprehensively.
He bent his head, still laughing. "Shall I tell you? Can't you guess?"
"No. Tell me!" she said.
He touched the soft ringlets of her hair with his lips. "They will say,'God help his wife!'mignonne. And I—I shall answer 'Amen'."
She lifted her face suddenly and defiantly, her eyes afire. "Do you know what I shall say if they do?" she said.
"What?" said Saltash, his own eyes gleaming oddly.
"I shall tell them," said Toby tensely, "to—to—to go to blazes!"
He grimaced his appreciation. "Then they will begin to pity the husband,chérie."
She held up her lips to his, childishly, lovingly. "I will be good," she said. "I will be good. I will never say such things again."
He kissed the trembling lips again, lightly, caressingly. "Oh, don't be too good!" he said. "I couldn't live up to it. You shall say what you like—do what you like. And—you shall be my queen!"
She caught back another sob. Her clinging arms tightened. "And you will be—what you have always been," she said—"my king—my king—my king!"
In the silence that followed the passionate words, Charles Rex very gently loosened the clinging arms, and set her free.
"I never thought it would be like this," said Toby.
She spoke aloud, though she was alone. She stood at an immense window on the first floor of a busy Paris hotel and stared down into the teeming courtyard below. Her fair face wore a whimsical expression that was half of amusement and half of discontent. She looked absurdly young, almost childish; but her blue eyes were unmistakably wistful.
Below her seethed a crowd of vehicles of every description and the babel that came up to her was as the roar of a great torrent. It seemed to sweep away all coherent thought, for she smiled as she gazed downwards and her look held interest in the busy scene even though the hint of melancholy lingered. There was certainly plenty to occupy her, and it was not in her nature to be bored.
But yet at the opening of a door in the room behind her, she turned very swiftly, and in a moment her face was alight with ardent welcome.
"Ah! Here you are!" she said.
He came forward in his quick, springy fashion, his odd eyes laughing their gay, unstable greeting into hers. He took the hands she held out to him, and bending, lightly kissed them.
"Have you been bored?Mais non!I have not been so long gone. Why are you not still resting,chérie, as I told you?"
She looked at him, and still—though her eyes laughed their gladness—the wistfulness remained. "I am—quite rested,monseigneur. And the tiredness—quite gone. And now you are going to take me to see the sights of Paris?"
"Those of them you don't know?" suggested Saltash.
She nodded. "I don't know very many. I never went very far. I was afraid."
He twisted his hand through her arm, and his fingers closed upon her wrist. "You are not afraid—with me?" he questioned.
Her eyes answered him before her voice. "Never,monseigneur."
"Why do you call me that?" said Saltash.
She coloured at the abrupt question. "It suits you."
He made his monkeyish grimace, and suddenly dropped his eyes to the blue-veined wrist in his grasp. "Are you happy,mignonne?" he asked her, still obviously in jesting mood.
Toby's eyes dropped also. She mutely nodded.
"The truth, Nonette?" His look flashed over her; his tone was imperious.
She nodded again. "I always tell you—the truth."
He began to laugh. "Mais vraiment! I had not thought that likely. Then you do not want to leave me—yet?"
"Leave you!" Her eyes came up to his in wide amazement. "I!"
"We have been married three days," he reminded her, with comically working brows. "And I—have I not already begun to leave you—to neglect you?"
"I—I—I never expected—anything else," stammered Toby, suddenly averting her face.
He patted her cheek with careless kindliness. "How wise of you, my dear! How wise! Then you are not yet—sufficientlyennuyéeto desire to leave me?"
"Why—why do you ask?" questioned Toby.
There was a species of malicious humour about him that made her uneasy. Saltash in a mischievous mood was not always easy to restrain. He did not immediately reply to her question, and she turned with a hint of panic and tightly clasped his arm.
"It is—you who are—ennuyé!" she said, with piteous eyes upraised.
He flicked her cheek with his thumb, his odd eyes gleaming. "Not so,MiladiSaltash! For me—the game is just begun. But—should you desire to leave me—the opportunity is yours. A knight has arrived to the rescue—a very puissant knight!"
"A knight!" gasped Toby, trembling. "Ah! Tell me what you mean!"
His look was openly mocking. "A knight in gaiters!" he told her lightly. "A knight who bears—or should bear—a horsewhip in place of a sword—that is, if I know him aright!"
"Jake!" she gasped incredulously.
He laughed afresh. "Even so! Jake! Most worthy—and most obtrusive! What shall we do with him, lady mine? Slay him—or give him a feed and send him home?"
She stared at him, aghast. "You—you—you are joking!" she stammered.
"I always joke when I am most serious," Saltash assured her.
"Oh, don't!" She clung closer to his arm. "What shall we do? He—he can't do anything, can he? We—we—we really are married, aren't we?"
Saltash's most appalling grimace fled like a hunted goblin across his face. "Married? Heavens, child! What more do you want? Haven't you seen it—actually seen it—in our greatest London daily? And can a London daily lie? You may have dreamed the wedding, but that paragraph—that paragraph—it takes a genius of the first literary degree to dream a paragraph, though it may only need quite an ordinary fool to write it! Why, what is the matter? What is it? Did you see something? Not a mouse? Not a beetle? I prithee, not a beetle!"
For Toby had suddenly hidden her face against his shoulder and there was actual panic in the clinging of her arms. He laid a hand upon her head, and patted it lightly, admonishingly.
She did not speak for a second or two, only gulped with desperate effort at self-restraint. Then, at length, in a muffled voice, "Don't let him take me away!" she besought him shakily. "You—you—you've promised to keep me—now."
"But, of course I'm keeping you," said Saltash. "It's what I did it for. It's the very essence of the game. Cheer up, Nonette! I'm not parting with any of my goods, worldly or otherwise, this journey."
"You are sure?" whispered Toby. "Sure?"
"Sure of what?" He bent swiftly, and for a second, only a second, his lips touched her hair.
"Sure you—don't—want to?" came in a gasp from Toby, as she burrowed a little deeper.
"Oh, that!" Saltash stood up again, and his face was sardonic, for the moment almost grim. "Yes, quite sure of that, my dear. Moreover,—it will amuse me to meet the virtuous Jake on his own ground for once. A new sensation, Nonette! Will you help me to face him? Or do you prefer the more early-Victorianrôleof the lady who retires till the combat is over and then emerges to reward the winner?"
She lifted her head at that, and uttered a scoffing little laugh, withdrawing herself abruptly from his support. Her pointed chin went up with a hint of defiance. All signs of agitation were gone. "I'll stay and help you," she said.
He made her an elaborate bow. "Then we will ring up the curtain. I congratulate you, madam, upon your spirit. I trust the interview will not try your fortitude too far. Remember, should your feminine ears be shocked by anything that may pass between us, it is up to you to retire at any moment."
Toby's blue eyes caught sudden fire. She broke into an unexpected chuckle. "I do not think I am likely to retire for that reason,monseigneur," she said. "Where is he? How did you know he was coming?"
"Because he is already here," said Saltash. "I passed him at the office, making enquiries. He had his back to me, but there is no mistaking that bull-neck of his. Ah!" He turned his head sharply. "I hear a step outside! Sit down,mignonne! Sit down and be dignified!"
But Toby's idea of dignity was to sit on the corner of the table and swing one leg. If any apprehension lingered in her mind, she concealed it most successfully. She looked like an alert and mischievous boy.
There came a knock at the door, and for a moment her eyes sought Saltash. He grinned back derisively, and pulled out his cigarette-case. "Entrez!" he called.
The door opened with a flourish. A waiter entered with a card.
Saltash barely looked at him. His eyes flashed beyond to the open doorway. "You can come in," he remarked affably. "We've been expecting you for some time."
Jake entered. His square frame seemed to fill the space between the door-posts. He was empty-handed, but there was purpose—grim purpose—in every line of him.
Saltash dismissed the waiter with a jerk of the eyebrows. He was utterly unabashed, amazingly self-assured. He met Jake's stern eyes with cheery effrontery.
"Quite like old times!" he commented. "The only difference being, my goodJake, that on this occasion I have reached the winning-post first."
Jake's look went beyond him to the slight figure by the table. Toby was on her feet. Her face was flushed, but her eyes were wide and defiant. He regarded her steadily for several seconds before, very deliberately, he transferred his attention to Saltash, who nonchalantly awaited his turn, tapping the cigarette on the lid of his case with supreme indifference.
Jake spoke, his voice soft as a woman's, yet strangely dominating. "I should like two minutes alone with you—if you can spare them."
Saltash was smiling. His glance shot towards Toby, and came back to Jake with a certain royal arrogance that held its own without effort. "In other words, you wish—Lady Saltash—to leave us?" he questioned easily.
"I'm not going," said Toby quickly, with nervous decision.
Her hands were tightly clasped in front of her. She stood as one strung to the utmost limit of resistance.
Jake did not again look at her. His eyes were upon Saltash, and they never wavered. "Alone with you," he repeated, with grim insistence.
Saltash regarded him curiously. His mouth twitched mockingly as he put the cigarette between his lips. He held out the case to Jake in mute invitation.
Jake's look remained fixed. He ignored the action, and the case snapped shut in Saltash's hand with a sharp sound that seemed to denote a momentary exasperation. But Saltash's face still retained the monkey-like expression of calculated mischief habitual to it.
"Bunny with you?" he enquired casually, producing a match-box.
"No." Very quietly came Jake's answer. "I have come to see you—alone."
Saltash lighted his cigarette, and blew a careless cloud of smoke. "Are you proposing to shoot me?" he asked, after a pause.
"No," said Jake grimly. "Shooting's too good for you—men like you."
Saltash laughed, and blew another cloud of smoke. "That may be why I have survived so long," he remarked. "I don't see the horsewhip either. Jake, my friend, you are not rising to the occasion with becoming enthusiasm. Any good offering you a drink to stimulate your energies?"
"None whatever," said Jake, still very quietly. "I don't go—till I have what I came for—that's all. Neither do you!"
"I—see!" said Saltash.
An odd little gleam that was almost furtive shone for a second in his eyes and was gone. He turned and crossed the room to Toby.
"My dear," he said, "I think this business will be more quickly settled if you leave us."
She looked at him piteously. He took her lightly by the arm, and led her to a door leading to an adjoining room. "By the time you have smoked one cigarette," he said, "I shall be with you again."
She turned with an impulsive attempt to cling to him. "You'll—keep me?" she said, through trembling lips.
He made a royal gesture that frustrated her with perfect courtesy. "Are you not my wife?" he said.
He opened the door for her, and she had no choice but to go through. She went swiftly, without another glance, and Saltash closed the door behind her.
"Now, sir!" said Saltash, and turned. His tone was brief; the smile had gone from his face. He came to Jake with a certain haughtiness, and stood before him.
Jake squared his shoulders. "So—you've married her!" he said.
"I have." There was a note of challenge in the curt rejoinder. Saltash's brows were drawn.
"I should like to see—proof of that," Jake said, after a moment.
"The devil you would!" Again the hot gleam shone in the odd eyes. Saltash stood for a second in the attitude of a man on the verge of violence. Then, contemptuously, he relaxed.
He lounged back against the mantel-piece and smoked his cigarette. "The devil you would, Jake!" he said again, in a tone so different that the words might have been uttered in another language. "And why—if one be permitted to ask?"
"I think you know why," Jake said.
"Oh, do I? You virtuous people are always the first to suspect evil." Saltash spoke with deliberate cynicism. "And suppose the marriage is not genuine—as you so politely hint—what then, my worthy Jake? What then?"
Jake faced him unwaveringly. "If not," he said, "she goes back with me."
Saltash's eyes suddenly flashed to his, but he did not alter his position. "Sure of that?" he asked casually.
"Sure!" said Jake.
"And if I refuse to part with her? If she refuses to go?"
"Either way," said Jake immovably.
"And why?" Saltash straightened suddenly. "Tell me why! What in hell has it got to do with you?"
"This," said Jake. "Just the fact that she's a girl needing protection and that I—can give it."
"Are you so sure of that?" gibed Saltash. "I think you forget, don't you, that I was her first protector? No one—not even Bunny—could have got near her without my consent."
"She was your find right enough," Jake admitted. "I always knew that—knew from the first you'd faked up a lie about her. But I hoped—I even believed—that you were doing it for her sake—not your own."
"Well?" flung Saltash. "And if I was?"
"And if you were," said Jake, "it was a thing worth doing—worth sticking to. Bunny is a respectable citizen. He'd have married her—made her happy."
Saltash's mouth twisted. "Bunny had his chance—missed it," he said. "He'll know better next time. I'm not troubling about Bunny. He didn't deserve to win."
"And so you decided to play him a damn trick and cut him out?" said Jake.
Saltash snapped his fingers. "I did my best for him, but I couldn't push him through against his will. Why didn't he come after her when he found she had gone? Didn't he know where to look?"
"Just because he knew," said Jake.
Saltash moved abruptly. "Damnation! You shall have what you've come for. If seeing is believing—then you shall believe—that even Charles Burchester can protect a girl at a pinch from the snares of the virtuous!" He pulled an envelope from an inner pocket, and flung it with a passionate gesture upon the table in front of Jake.
Jake's eyes, red-brown and steady, marked the action and contemplated him thereafter for several silent seconds. Then, at length, very slowly. "Maybe—after all—I don't need to see, my lord," he said. "Maybe—I've made a mistake."
He spoke with the utmost quietness, but his manner had undergone a change. It held a hint of deference. He made no move to touch the envelope upon the table.
Saltash's brows went up. "Satisfied?" he questioned curtly.
"On that point, yes." Jake continued to look at him with a close and searching regard.
"Not on all points?" Saltash flicked the ash from his cigarette with a movement of exasperation.
Jake turned and slowly walked to the window. There fell a silence between them. He stood staring down upon the scene that Toby had gazed upon a little earlier, but he saw nothing of it. The hardness had gone out of his face, and a deep compassion had taken its place.
Saltash continued to smoke for several restless seconds. Finally, he dropped the end of his cigarette into a tray and spoke.
"Anything more I can do for you?"
Jake wheeled in his massive way, and came back. "Say!" he said slowly."I'm kind of sorry for that little girl."
Saltash made an abrupt movement that passed unexplained. "Well?" he said.
Jake faced him squarely. "If I'd been at home," he said, "this would never have happened. Or if it had happened—if it had happened—" He paused.
"You'd have made a point of coming to the wedding?" suggested Saltash.
Jake passed the suggestion by. "I'd have known how to deal with it, anyway. Now, it seems, it's too late."
Saltash took up the envelope from the table, and returned it to his pocket. "I believe you'd have been better pleased if I hadn't married her," he observed.
Jake shook his head. "I'd be better pleased—maybe—if I knew for certain what you did it for."
"My good Jake. I don't go in for aims and motives," protested Saltash. "Call it a marriage of convenience if you feel that way! It's all the same to me."
Jake's brows contracted. "I'd give a good deal not to call it that," he said.
Saltash laughed. "Call it what you like—a whim—a fancy—the craze of the moment! You needn't waste any sentiment over it. I'm sorry about Bunny, but, if he hadn't been an ass, it wouldn't have happened. You can't blame me for that anyhow. You did the same thing yourself."
"I!" The red-brown eyes suddenly shone. "I don't follow you," said Jake deliberately.
"You married your wife to deliver her from—a fate you deemed unsuitable." Saltash's teeth showed for a moment in answer to the gleam in Jake's eyes. "You did it in an almighty hurry too."
"But—damn it—she needed protection!" Jake said. "And—at least—I loved her!"
Saltash bowed. "Hence your motive was an entirely selfish one. My wife—au contraire—is quite unhampered by a husband's devotion. I have never made love to her—yet. I have only—protected her."
He paused, and suddenly the old monkey-like look of mischief flashed back into his face.
"I lay claim to the higher virtue, Jake," he said. "Heaven alone knows how long it will last. I've never scored over you before, but on this occasion—" He stopped with a careless wave of the hand.
"Yes," Jake said. "On this occasion—you've got me beat. But—I didn't fight for my own sake, nor yet for the off chance of downing you, which I own would have given me considerable pleasure once. It was for the child's sake." An unwonted note of entreaty suddenly sounded in his voice. "I don't know what your game is, my lord; but she's yours now—to make—or break. For God's sake—be decent to her—if you can!"
"If I can!" Saltash clapped a sudden hand upon Jake's shoulder, but though the action was obviously a kindly one, it held restraint as well. "Do you think I don't know how to make a woman happy, Jake? Think I haven't studied the subject hard enough? Think I'm a fool at the game?"
Jake looked him straight in the face. "No. I don't think you a fool, my lord," he said. "But I reckon there's one or two things that even you may have to learn. You've never yet made any woman permanently happy. There's only one way of doing that. Bunny would have done it—and won out too. But you—I'm not so sure of you."
"Oh, Bunny would have won out, would he?" Saltash's hand closed like a trap upon Jake's shoulder. There was a challenging quality in his smile.
Jake nodded. "Yes. Bunny's got the real stuff in him. Bunny would have put her happiness before his own always. He would have given her the love that lasts. It's the only thing worth having, after all."
"Well?" The challenge became more marked upon the swarthy face. The smile had vanished. "And you think I am incapable of that?"
"I haven't said so," Jake said sombrely.
"But it's up to me to prove it?" There was a certain insistence inSaltash's tone, albeit a mocking spirit looked out of his eyes.
Jake faced it unwaveringly for several seconds. Then: "Yes. I reckon it is up to you," he said, and turned deliberately away. "I'm going now."
"All right." Saltash's hand fell. "I give you credit for one thing, Jake," he said. "You haven't offered to take her off my hands. For that piece of forbearance I congratulate you. Do you want to see her before you go?"
"Not specially," said Jake.
Saltash's eyes followed him with a look half-malicious, half-curious."Nor to send her a message?" he questioned.
"No." Jake's tone was brief.
"You're not wanting to offer her a safe harbour when her present anchorage fails her?" jested Saltash.
Jake turned at the door as one goaded. "When that happens," he said very deliberately. "I guess she'll be past any help from me, poor kid!"
Saltash's black brows descended. He scowled hideously for a moment. Then, "I congratulate you again," he said coolly. "You are just beginning to see things—as they are."
Jake made a brief sound that might have indicated contempt and opened the door. He went out with finality, and Saltash listened to the tread of his retreating feet with a grin of sheer cynical triumph.
"So," he said lightly, "the villain scores at last!"
But as he turned towards the other room, the cynicism passed from his face. He stood for a moment or two motionless at the door; then broke into a careless whistle and opened it.
"Has he gone?" said Toby eagerly. She came into the room with a swift glance around. "What did he say? What did he do? Was he angry?"
"I really don't know," Saltash said, supremely unconcerned. "He went.That's the main thing."
Toby looked at him critically. "You were so quiet, both of you. Was there a row?"
"Were you listening?" said Saltash.
She coloured, and smiled disarmingly. "Part of the time—no, all the time. But I didn't hear anything—at least not much. Nothing that mattered. Are you angry?"
He frowned upon her, but his eyes reassured. "I told you to smoke a cigarette."
"I'm sorry," said Toby meekly. "Shall I smoke one now?"
He pinched her ear. "No. We'll go out. You've got to shop. First though, I've got something for you. I'm not sure you deserve it, but that's a detail. Few of us ever do get our deserts in this naughty world."
"What is it?" said Toby.
Her bright eyes questioned him. She looked more than ever like an eager boy. He pulled a leather case out of his pocket and held it out to her.
"Oh, what is it?" she said, and coloured more deeply. "You haven't—haven't—been buying me things?"
"Open it!" said Saltash, with regal peremptoriness.
But still she hesitated, till he suddenly laid his hands on hers and compelled her. She saw a single string of pearls on a bed of blue velvet. Her eyes came up to his in quick distress.
"Oh, I ought not to take them!" she said.
"And why not?" said Saltash.
She bit her lip, almost as if she would burst into tears. "Monseigneur—"
"Call me Charles!" he commanded.
His hands still held hers. She dropped her eyes to them, and suddenly, very suddenly, she bent her head and kissed them.
He started slightly, and in a moment he set her free, leaving the case in her hold. "Eh bien!" he said lightly. "That is understood. You like my pearls,chérie?"
"I love—anything—that comes from you," she made low reply. "But these—but these—I ought not to take these."
"But why not?" he questioned. "May I not make you a present? Are you not—my wife?"
"Yes." More faintly came Toby's answer. "But—but—but—a wife is different. A wife—does not need—presents."
"Mais vraiment!" protested Saltash. "So a wife is different! How—different,mignonne?"
He tried to look into the downcast eyes, but she would not raise them. She was trembling a little. "Such things as these," she said, under her breath, "are what a man would give to—to—to the woman he loves."
"And so you think they are unsuitable for—my wife?" questioned Saltash, with a whimsical look on his dark face.
She did not answer him, only mutely held out the case, still without looking at him.
He stood for a second or two, watching her, an odd flame coming and going in his eyes; then abruptly he moved, picked up the pearls from their case, straightened them dexterously, and clasped them about her neck.
She lifted her face then, quivering and irresolute, to his. "And I can give you—nothing," she said.
He took her lightly by the shoulders, as one who caresses a child. "Ma chérie, you have given me already much more than you realize. But we will not go into that now. We will go to the shops. Afterwards, we will go out to Fontainebleau and picnic in the forest. You will like that?"
"Oh, so much!" she said, with enthusiasm.
Yet there was a puzzled look of pain in her eyes as she turned away, and though she wore his pearls, she made no further reference to them.
They went forth into the streets of Paris and Toby shopped. At first she was shy, halting here and hesitating there, till Saltash, looking on, careless and debonair, made it abundantly evident that whatever she desired she was to have, and then like a child on a holiday she flung aside all indecision and became eager and animated. So absorbed was she that she took no note of the passage of time and was horrified when at length he called her attention to the fact that it was close upon the luncheon-hour.
"And you must be so tired of it all!" she said, with compunction.
"Not in the least," he assured her airily between puffs of his cigarette."It has been—a new experience for me."
Her eyes challenged him for a moment, and he laughed.
"Mais oui, madame!I protest—a new experience. I feel I am doing my duty."
"And it doesn't bore you?" questioned Toby, with a tilt of the chin.
His look kindled a little. "If we were on board the oldNight Moth, you'd have had a cuff for that," he remarked.
"I wish we were!" she said daringly.
He flicked his fingers. "You're very young, Nonette."
She shook her head with vehemence. "I'm not! I'm not! I'm only pretending. Can't you see?"
He laughed jestingly. "You have never deceived me yet,ma chère,—not once, from the moment I found you shivering in my cabin up to the present. You couldn't if you tried."
Toby's blue eyes suddenly shone with a hot light. "So sure of that?" she said quickly. "You read me—so easily?"
"Like a book," said Saltash, with an arrogance but half-assumed.
"I cheated you—once," she said, breathing sharply.
"And I caught you," said Saltash.
"Only—only because—I meant you to," said Toby, under her breath.
He raised his brows in momentary surprise, and in a flash she laughed and clapped her hands. "I had you there, King Charles! You see, you are but a man after all."
He gave her a swift and piercing glance. "And what are you?" he said.
Her eyes fell swiftly before his look; she made no reply.
They returned to the hotel and lunched together. The incident of the morning seemed to be forgotten. Jake's name was not once mentioned between them. Toby was full of gaiety. The prospect of the run to Fontainebleau evidently filled her with delight.
She joined Saltash in the vestibule after the meal, clad in a light blue wrap they had purchased that morning.
He went to meet her, a quick gleam in his eyes; and a man to whom he had been talking—a slim, foreign-looking man with black moustache and imperial—turned sharply and gave her a hard stare.
Toby's chin went up. She looked exclusively at Saltash. Her bearing at that moment was that of a princess.
"The car is ready?" she questioned. "Shall we go?"
"By all means," said Saltash.
He nodded a careless farewell to the other man, and followed her, a smile twitching at his lips, the gleam still in his eyes.
"That man is Spentoli the sculptor," he said, as he handed her into the car. "A genius, Nonette! I should have presented him to you if you had not been so haughty."
"I hate geniuses," said Toby briefly.
He laughed at her. "Mais vraiment!How many have you known?"
She considered for a moment, and finally decided that the question did not require an answer.
Saltash took the wheel and spun the little car round with considerable dexterity. "Yes, a genius!" he said. "One of the most wonderful of the age. His work is amazing—scarcely human. He paints too. All Paris raves over his work—with reason. His picture, 'The Victim'—" he looked at her suddenly—"What is the matter,chérie? Is the sun too strong for you?"
Toby's hand was shielding her eyes. Her lips were trembling. "Don't wait!" she murmured. "Don't wait! Let's get away! I am all right—just a little giddy, that's all."
He took her at her word, and sent the car swiftly forward. They passed out into the crowded thoroughfare, and in a moment or two Toby leaned back, gazing before her with a white, set face.
Saltash asked no question. He did not even look at her, concentrating all his attention upon the task of extricating himself as swiftly as possible from the crush of vehicles around them.
It was a day of perfect autumn, and Paris lay basking in sunshine; but Saltash was a rapid traveller at all times, and it was not long before Paris was left behind. But even when free from the traffic, he did not speak or turn towards his companion, merely gave himself to the task of covering the ground as quickly as possible.
In the end it was Toby who spoke, abruptly, boyishly. "By jingo! You can drive!"
Saltash's face showed its own elastic grin. "You like this?"
"Rather!" said Toby with enthusiasm.
She threw off her silence and plunged forthwith into careless chatter—a mood to which he responded with the utmost readiness. When at length they ran into the shade of the forest, they were both in the highest spirits.
They had their tea in a mossy glade out of sight of the road. The sun was beginning to slant. Its rays fell in splashes of golden green all about them.
"Just the place for a duel!" said Saltash appreciatively.
"Have you ever fought a duel?" Toby looked at him over the picnic-basket with eyes of sparkling interest.
She had thrown aside her hat, and her fair hair gleamed as if it gave forth light. Saltash leaned his shoulders against a tree and watched her.
"I have never fought to kill," he said. "Honour is too easily satisfied in this country—though after all—" his smile was suddenly provocative—"there are very few things worth fighting for, Nonette."
Her eyes flashed their ready challenge. "Life being too short already?" she suggested.
"Even so," said Charles Rex coolly.
Toby abruptly bent her head and muttered something into the picnic-basket.
"What?" said Saltash.
She pulled out a parcel of cakes and tossed them on to the ground."Nothing!" she said.
He leaned forward unexpectedly as she foraged for more, and gripped the small brown hand.
"Tell me what you said!" he commanded.
She flung him a look half-frightened, half-daring. "I said there was only one cup."
She would have released her hand with the words, but his fingers tightened like a spring. "Pardonnez-moi!That was not what you said!"
She became passive in his hold, but she said nothing.
"Tell me what you said!" Saltash said again.
A little tremor went through Toby. "Can we do—with only one cup?" she asked, not looking at him, her eyelids flickering nervously.
"Going to answer me?" said Saltash.
She shook her head and was silent.
He waited for perhaps ten seconds, and in that time a variety of different expressions showed and vanished on his ugly face. Then, just as Toby was beginning to tremble in real trepidation, he suddenly set her free.
"We have drunk out of the same glass before now," he said. "We can do it again."
She looked at him then, relief and doubt struggling together in her eyes."Are you angry?" she said.
His answering look baffled her. "No," he said.
She laid a conciliatory hand upon his arm. "You are! I'm sure you are!"
"I am not," said Saltash.
"Then why aren't you?" demanded Toby, with sudden spirit.
The monkeyish grin leapt into his face. "Because I know what you said," he told her coolly. "It is not easy—you will never find it easy—to deceive me."
She snatched her hand away. Her face was on fire. "I said you did not make the most of life," she flung at him. "And it's true! You don't! You don't!"
"How do you know that?" said Saltash.
She did not answer him. Her head was bent over the basket. She threw out one thing after another with nervous rapidity, and once, as he watched her, there came a faint sound that was like a hastily suppressed sob.
Saltash got to his feet with disconcerting suddenness and walked away.
When he returned some minutes later with a half-smoked cigarette between his lips, she was sitting demurely awaiting him, the picnic ready spread.
He scarcely looked at her but he flicked her cheek as he sat down, and in a moment she turned and smiled at him.
"I have found another cup," she said.
"So I see," said Saltash, and before she could realize his mood he picked it up and flung it at the trunk of a tree some yards away. It shivered in fragments on the moss, and Toby gasped and stared at him wide-eyed.
He laughed in his careless fashion at her amazement. "Now we shall drink out of one cup!" he said.
"Was that—was that—why you did it?" she stammered breathlessly.
He blew a cloud of smoke into the air with a gesture of royal indifference. "Even so,—madame!" he said. "One does these things—with a wife. You see, a wife—is different."
"I—I see," said Toby.
It was dark when they returned to the hotel, but Paris shone with a million lights. The hotel itself had a festive air. There were flowers in all directions, and a red carpet had been laid upon the steps.
"Rozelle Daubeni is expected," said Saltash.
"Who?" Toby stopped short in the act of descending. Her face shone white in the glare. A moment before she had been laughing but the laugh went into her question with a little choked sound. "Who did you say?" she questioned more coherently.
"Mademoiselle Daubeni—the idol of Paris. Never heard of her?" Saltash handed her lightly down. "She is coming to a dance in the greatsalontonight. You shall see her. She is—a thing to remember."
Toby gave a quick shiver. "Yes, I have heard of her too much—too much—I don't want to see her. Shall we dine upstairs?"
"Oh, I think not," said Saltash with decision. "You are too retiring,ma chère. It doesn't become—a lady of your position."
He followed her towards the lift. The vestibule was full of people, laughing and talking, awaiting the coming of the favourite. But as the girl in her blue cloak went through, a sudden hush fell. Women lifted glasses to look at her, and men turned to watch.
Saltash sauntered behind her in his regal way, looking neither to right nor left, yet fully aware of all he passed. No one accosted him. There were times when even those who knew him well would have hesitated to do so. He could surround himself with an atmosphere so suavely impersonal as to be quite impenetrable to all.
It surrounded him now. He walked like a king through a crowd of courtiers, and the buzz of talk did not spring up again till he was out of sight.
"So you do not want to seele premiere danseuse du siècle!" he commented, as he entered the sitting-room of their suite behind Toby.
She turned, blue eyes wide with protest in her white face. "Do you wish me to see her, my lord? That—woman!"
He frowned upon her suddenly. "Call me Charles! Do you hear? We will play this game according to rule—or not at all."
"You are angry," Toby said, and turned still whiter.
He came to her, thrust a quick arm about her. "I am not angry,mignonne, at least not with you. But you must take your proper place. I can't keep you in hiding here. Those gaping fools downstairs—they have got to understand. You are not my latest whim, but a permanent institution. You are—my wife."
She shivered in his hold, but she clung to him. "I don't feel like—a permanent institution," she told him rather piteously. "And when you are angry—"
"I am not angry," said Saltash, and tweaked her ear as though she had been a boy. "But—whether you feel like it or not—you are my wife, and you have got to play the part.C'est entendu, n'est-ce-pas?"
"Whatever you wish," said Toby faintly.
He set her free. "You must look your best tonight. Wear blue! It is your colour. I shall present Spentoli to you. And tomorrow he will want to paint you."
Toby stiffened. "That—canaille!" she said.
He looked at her in surprise. "What is the matter with you tonight,Nonette? You are hating all the world."
Her blue eyes blazed. "I don't want to meet Spentoli," she said. "He has an evil eye. You—you—I look to you to—to—to protect me."
"My good child!" said Saltash.
He turned aside to light a cigarette, and there was a pause. But Toby still stood rigid, as it were on guard. He spoke again after a moment, and his voice was kind though it had a certain dominant quality also.
"Nonette, you need not be afraid when you are with me. I shall protect you. Now go and dress! When you are ready, come to me for inspection! And remember! You are to look your best tonight."
He turned with the last words and looked at her. His brows went up as he realized her attitude—the tense resistance of the slight figure withstanding him.
But it was only for a moment or two that the girl maintained her stand. At sight of the look that leaped to his eyes, her own were swiftly lowered. She drew back from him.
"I will do—whatever you wish," she said again nervously. "You know that."
"Yes, I know that," said Saltash with his quick grimace. "You have my sympathy, Nonette. Now go,ma chère, go!"
She went from his presence like a small hunted animal.
Saltash shrugged his shoulders and sauntered down again to the vestibule. The crowd had grown. They were watching the great entrance-door expectantly for the coming of the celebrated dancer. Saltash called for a drink, and mingled with the throng.
The Italian, Spentoli, came up presently and joined him. "I am hoping," he said, "that you will presently give me the great honour of presenting me to your bride."
Saltash looked at him. Spentoli was one of the very few men for whom he entertained respect. The Italian's work had always held an immense attraction for his artistic soul, and he had never troubled to disguise the fact.
"My wife is young and shy," he said, after a moment. "I will present you—some day, Spentoli, but it may not be yet."
"This is her first visit to Paris?" questioned Spentoli.
"Not her first. But she does not know Paris well." Saltash spoke carelessly. "I am not showing her everything at once. I think that is a mistake."
"That is true," agreed Spentoli. "The freshness of youth is gone all too soon. But she will be superbly beautiful in a few years' time. Will you permit me to congratulate you on the excellence of your choice?"
Saltash grimaced. "Do we ever choose?" he said. "Do we not rather receive such gifts as the gods send us in more or less of a grudging spirit?"
Spentoli smiled. "I did not think you would marry one so young," he said."She has the athletic look of a boy. She reminds me—"
"Of a picture called 'The Victim' by one—Spentoli!" Saltash's voice was suave. "A cruel picture,mon ami, but of an amazing merit. I have seen the likeness also. Where did you get it?"
The Italian was still smiling, but his eyes were wary.
"From a little circus-rider in California," he said. "A child—an imp of a child—astonishingly clever—a wisp of inspiration. Yes, a girl of course; but she had all the lines of a boy—the perfect limbs of an athlete. I took her from her circus. I should have paid her well had she remained with me. But before the picture was finished, she was tired. She was a little serpent—wily and wicked. One day we had a small discussion in my studio—oh, quite a small discussion. And she stuck her poison-fang into me—and fled." Spentoli's teeth gleamed through his black moustache. "I do not like these serpent-women," he said. "When I meet her again—it will be my turn to strike."
"Our turn so seldom comes," said Saltash lazily, his eyes wandering to the door. "Mademoiselle Rozelle for instance would hold her own against any of us."
"Ah! Rozelle!" Spentoli's face changed magically. "But she is beautiful—and without venom—a rose without a thorn!"
Saltash's mouth twitched mockingly. "And without a heart also?" he suggested.
"She is all heart!" cried Spentoli, with flashing eyes.
Saltash laughed aloud. "That also is sometimes a drawback,mon ami. I gather she is the attraction who has drawn you here."
"She draws all the world," said Spentoli.
And with that he sprang to his feet, for there was a general stir in the vestibule, such as might herald the coming of a queen. In a moment the buzz of voices died down, and a great silence fell. Saltash remained seated, a certain arrogance in his pose, though his eyes also watched the door.
There came the sound of a laugh—a clear, ringing laugh, childishly, irresistibly gay—and a figure in blue came in through the marble pillars. As a queen they had prepared for her, and as a queen she entered—a being so exquisite, so goddess-like, that every breath was drawn in wonder.
She looked around her with eyes that shone like sapphires. Her red lips were parted. She had the expectant look of girlhood, yet her beauty had a quality unknown to youth. And it was to that quality, almost unknown to himself, that Saltash did homage as he rose.
Her look flashed across to him, comprehended his action, and laughed open triumph. Then with a suddenness almost too swift to follow, she turned to a man who had entered behind her and softly spoke.
Saltash's eyes went to the man, and he drew a low whistle between his teeth. It was well known that Rozelle Daubeni never travelled without an escort; but this man—this man—He was tall and broad, and he carried himself with a supreme contempt for his fellow-men. He did not look at Saltash, did not apparently even see the hushed crowd that hung upon every movement of that wonderful woman-creature who took the world by storm wherever she went.
He was superbly indifferent to his surroundings, gazing straight before him with the eyes of a Viking who searches the far horizon. He walked with the free swing of a pirate. And as the woman turned her dazzling face towards him, it was plain to all that she saw none but him in that vast and crowded place.
He was by her side as they moved forward, and they saw her lightly touch his arm, with an intimate gesture, as though they were alone. Then the whole throng broke into acclamations, and the spell was broken. She saw them all again, and laughed her gracious thanks. The great hall rang with their greeting as she passed through, but no one sought to detain her and she did not pause.
Later, she would give them all they desired, but her moment had not arrived. So she went on to the great curving staircase, side by side with her fair-bearded Viking, still laughing like a happy child who looks for the morrow.
As she rounded the curve of the stair, she snatched a red rose from her breast and threw it down to her worshippers below. It was aimed at Saltash, but it fell before Spentoli, and he caught and held it with wild adoration leaping in his eyes. As he pressed it to his lips, he was sobbing.
"Mon ami," said Saltash's voice behind him, maliciously humorous, "you have stolen my property. But—since I have no use for it—you may keep it."
Spentoli looked at him with burning eyes. "Ah! You may laugh!" he said, in a fierce undertone. "You are—without a soul."
"Isn't it better to laugh?" queried Saltash. "Did you expect a blow in the face?"
Spentoli glared for a moment, and recovered himself. "Do you know what they are saying of her?" he said. "They say that she is dying. But it is not true—not true! Such beauty as that—such loveliness—could never die!"
The cynical lines in Saltash's face deepened very perceptibly. He shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.
"Who is the man with her?" demanded Spentoli. "I have never seen him before—the man with the face of a Dane. Do you know him?"
"Yes, I know him," said Saltash.
"Then who is he? Some new lover?" There was suppressed eagerness in the question. Spentoli's eyes were smouldering again.
Saltash was looking supremely ironical. "Perhaps new," he said. "More likely—very old. His name is Larpent, and he is the captain of my yacht."
"We will watch from the gallery," said Saltash.
Toby looked up at him with quick gratitude. "There won't be so many people there," she said.
He frowned at her, but his look was quizzical. "But everyone will know that Lady Saltash is present—with her husband," he said.
She slipped a persuasive hand on to his arm. "King Charles," she said, "let us leave Paris!"
"Bored?" said Saltash.
Her face was slightly drawn. "No—no! Only—" she paused; then suddenly flashed him her swift smile—"let it be as you wish!" she said.
He flicked her cheek in his careless, caressing way. "Shall I tell you something,mignonne? We are going—very soon."
Her eyes shone, more blue than the frock she wore She stooped impulsively and touched his hand with her lips, then, as though she feared to anger him, drew quickly away.
"Shall we go on the yacht?" she asked, eagerness half-suppressed in her voice.
"Yes," said Saltash, and he spoke with finality, even with a certain grimness.
Toby's face lighted up for a second, and then clouded again. She glanced at him doubtfully. "If Paris amuses you—" she ventured.
"Paris does not amuse me," said Saltash emphatically. "Have a cigarette,ma chère, while I go and dress."
"Can I help you dress?" said Toby, with a touch of wistfulness. "I have put everything ready."
His odd eyes flashed her a smile. "Not here,chérie, not now.Perhaps—when we get on a yacht again—"
He was gone, leaving the sentence unfinished, leaving Toby looking after him with the wide eyes of one who sees at last a vision long desired. She stretched out both her arms as the door closed upon him and her lips repeated very softly the words that he had last uttered.
"Perhaps—when we got on a yacht again—"
When they went down to the greatsalle-à-mangera little later, her face was flushed and her smile ready, though she glanced about her in a shy, half-furtive fashion as they entered. They found a secluded table reserved for them in a corner, and her eyes expressed relief. She shrank into it as if she would make herself as small as possible. Again no one accosted them though a good many looked in their direction. Saltash was far too well known a figure to pass unnoticed in any fashionable crowd. But the general attention did not centre upon them. That was absorbed by a far greater attraction that night.
She sat at the end of the room like a queen holding her court, and beside her sat the Viking, stern-faced and remote of mien, as supremely isolated as though he sat with her on a desert island. He spoke but seldom, and then to her exclusively. But when he spoke, she turned to him the radiant face of the woman who holds within her grasp her heart's desire.
She was superbly dressed in many-shaded blue, and jewels sparkled with every breath she drew. Above her forehead, there nestled in the gold of her hair a single splendid diamond that burned like a multi-coloured flame. She was at the acme of her triumph that night. Of all who knew her, there was not one who had seen her thus. They watched her almost with bated breath. She was like a being from another world. She transcended every expectation of her.
The band played only dance-music, by her desire, it was said; but such music as wrought irresistibly upon the senses and emotions. She was preparing her audience for what should follow. Throughout the meal, excitement was steadily rising. There was almost a feeling of delirium in the air.
Before the bulk of diners had finished, she rose to go. Her cavalier rose with her, flinging her gauzy wrap of blue and gold over his arm. It was the signal for a demonstration. In a moment a youth with eyes ablaze with adoration sprang on to a table in the centre of the vast room with a glass of red wine held high.
"A Rozelle! A Rozelle!"
The cry went up to the domed roof in a great crescendo of sound, and instantly the place was a pandemonium of shouting, excited figures. They crowded towards the table at which thedanseusestill stood. And just for a second—one fleeting second—her eyes showed a curious fear. She stood almost as one at a loss. Then in a flash her irresolution was gone. Her beautiful face smiled its own inimitable smile. The music of her laughter rang silvery through the tumult. She made a dainty gesture of acceptance, of acknowledgment, of friendly appreciation; then lightly she turned to go.
Her companion made a path for her. He looked as if he could have hewn his way through a wall of rock at that moment, and his uncompromising bearing gained him respect. No one attempted to gainsay him.
They were gone almost before they realized that their idol had not spoken a word to them. The moment was past, and the excitement died down to a buzz of talk.
"An amazing woman!" said Saltash.
Toby glanced at him, and said nothing. She had watched the whole episode from her corner with eyes that missed nothing; but she had not spoken a word.
He bent suddenly towards her. "Drink some wine,chérie! You are pale."
She started a little at the quick peremptoriness of his speech. She lifted her glass to drink, and splashed some of the wine over. He leaned farther forward, screening her from observation.
"Go on! Drink!" he said, with insistence, and in a moment his hand closed upon hers, guiding the wine to her lips.
She drank obediently, not meeting his look, and he took the glass from her, and set it down.
"Now we will go. Are you ready?"
She rose, and he stood aside for her. As she passed him, his hand closed for an instant upon her bare arm in a grasp that was close and vital. She threw him a quick, upward glance; but still she said no word.
They passed out through the throng of diners almost unobserved, but in the corridor Spentoli leaned against a pillar smoking a long, black cigar. He made no movement to intercept them, but his eyes with their restless fire dwelt upon the girl in a fashion that drew her own irresistibly. She saw him and slightly paused.
It was the pause of the hunted animal that sees its retreat cut off, but in an instant Saltash's voice, very cool, arrogantly self-assured, checked the impulse to panic.
"Straight on to the lift,ma chère! See! It is there in front of you.There will be no one in the gallery. Go straight on!"
She obeyed him instinctively as her habit was, but in the lift she trembled so much that he made her sit down. He stood beside her in silence, but once lightly his hand touched her cheek. She moved then swiftly, convulsively, and caught it in both her own. But the next moment he had gently drawn it free.
The gallery that ran round three sides of the greatsalonwas deserted. There was only one point at the far end whence a view of the stage that had been erected for the dancer could be obtained. Towards this Saltash turned.
"We shall see her from here," he said.
The place was but dimly illumined by the flare of the many lights below—two great crystal candelabra that hung at each end being left unlighted. Under one of these was a settee which Saltash drew forward to the balcony.
"No one will disturb us here," he said. "We can smoke in peace."
He offered her his cigarette-case, but she refused it nervously, sitting down in a corner of the settee in the crouched attitude of a frightened creature seeking cover. The band was playing in thesalonnow, and people were beginning to crowd in.
Saltash leaned back in his corner and smoked. His eyes went to and fro ceaselessly, yet the girl beside him was aware of a scrutiny as persistent as if they never left her. She sat in silence, clasping and unclasping her hands, staring downwards at the shining stage.
Very soon thesalonwas full of people, and the lights were lowered there while on the stage only a single shaft of blinding violet light remained, shooting downwards from the centre. Toby's eyes became fixed upon that shaft of light. She seemed to have forgotten to breathe.
The band had ceased to play. There fell a potent silence. The multitude below sat motionless, as if beneath a spell. And then she came.
No one saw her coming. She arrived quite suddenly as though she had slid down that shaft of light. And she was there before them dancing, dancing, like a winged thing in the violet radiance. Not a sound broke the stillness save a single, wandering thread of melody that might have come from the throat of a bird, soft, fitful, but half-awake in the dawning.
The violet light was merging imperceptibly into rose—the unutterable rose of the early morning. It caught the dancing figure, and she lifted her beautiful face to it and laughed. The gauzy scarf streamed out from her shoulders like a flame, curving, mounting, sinking, now enveloping the white arms, now flung wide in a circle of glittering splendour.
A vast breath went up from the audience. She held them as by magic—all save one who leaned back in his corner with no quickening of the pulses and watched the girl beside him sitting motionless with her blue eyes wide and fixed as though they gazed upon some horror from which there was no escape.
The rose light deepened to crimson. She was dancing now in giddy circles like a many-coloured moth dazzled by the dawn. The melody was growing. Other bird-voices were swelling into sound—a wild and flute-like music of cadences that came and went—elusive as the laughter of wood-nymphs in an enchanted glade. And every one of that silent crowd of watchers saw the red light of dawn breaking through the trees of a dream-forest that no human foot had ever trod.
Slowly the crimson lightened. The day was coming, and the silent-flitting moth of night was turning into a butterfly of purest gold. The scarf still floated about her like a gold-edged cloud. The giddy whirl was over. She came to rest, poised, quivering in the light of the newly-risen sun, every line of her exquisite body in the accord of a perfect symmetry. Yes, she was amazing; she was unique. Wherever she went, the spell still held. But to-night she was as one inspired. She did not see her spellbound audience. She was dancing for one alone. She was as a woman who waits for her lover.
In some fashion this fact communicated itself to her worshippers. They guessed that somewhere near that dazzling figure the stranger whom no one knew was watching. Insensibly, through the medium of the dancer, his presence made itself felt. When that wonderful dance of the dawn was over and the thunder of applause had died away, they looked around, asking who and where he was. But no one knew, and though curiosity was rife it seemed unlikely that it would be satisfied that night.
Up in the gallery Toby drew a deep breath as of one coming out of a trance, and turned towards the man beside her. The light had been turned on in thesalonbelow, and it struck upwards on her face, showing it white and weary.
"So she has found another victim!" she said.
"It seems so," said Saltash.
She looked at him in the dimness. "Did you know that—that CaptainLarpent was with her?"
"No," said Saltash. He leaned forward abruptly, meeting her look with a sudden challenge. "Did you?"
She drew back sharply. "Of course not! Of course not! What—what should I know about her?"
He leaned back again without comment, and lighted another cigarette.
At the end of several seconds of silence, Toby spoke again, her locked fingers pulling against each other nervously.
"I wonder—do you mind—if I go soon? I—I am rather tired."
The lights went out as she spoke, and Saltash's face became invisible. He spoke quite kindly, but with decision, out of the darkness.
"After this dance,ma chère—if you desire it."