“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 in Saltash’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.

CHAPTER III

A WIFE IS DIFFERENT

“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.”