“Oh, I must see the baby!” declared Saltash, turning back to Maud.

She laid a hand on his arm.  “I will take you to see him after dinner.”

“Will you?” He smiled into her eyes.  “I shall like that.  But I shall probably want to shoot Jake when I come down again.  Think it’s safe?”

She smiled back at him with confidence.  “Yes, I think so.  Anyhow, I’m not afraid.”

“Come and feed!” said Jake.

They sat down in the pretty oak-panelled dining-room with its windows opening upon the terrace and the long dim line of down.  Saltash talked freely of Valrosa, of his subsequent voyaging, of the wreck of The Night Moth, but no word did he utter of the gift that had been flung to him on that night of stars in the Mediterranean.  He was always completely at his ease in Jake’s household, but it was not his way to touch at any time in Maud’s presence upon any matter that could not be openly discussed before her.  Their intimacy was not without its reservations.

Maud in her quiet happiness detected no hint of restraint in his manner.  But he had always been elusive, often subtle.  She did not look for candour from Charles Rex—­unless she asked for it.

Watching him on that spring evening in the soft glow of the candles, marking the restless play of feature, the agile readiness of his wit, she asked herself, not for the first time, what manner of soul he had behind the mask.  Somehow she did not wholly believe in that entity which so often looked jibing forth.  Though she could ascribe no reason for it, she had a strong suspicion that the real self that was Saltash was of a different fibre altogether—­a thing that had often suffered violence it might be, but nevertheless possessed of that gift of the resurrection which no violence can destroy.

“Why are you dissecting me tonight?” he asked her once and laughed and changed the subject before she could reply.

When dinner was over and she rose, he sprang to open the door for her with that royal bonhomie of his which somehow gave him the right to enter where others waited for permission.

“Take Bunny with you!” he murmured.  “I want to talk to Jake.”

She lifted her eyes with a flash of surprise.  He bent towards her.

“And afterwards to you, Queen Rose.  I shall not forget to claim my privileges in that respect.”

She laughed a little, but she obeyed his behest as a matter of course.  “Come for a turn in the garden with me, Bunny!” she said.  “I’ve hardly seen you today.”

The boy got up, passing Jake with a careless slap on the shoulder that testified to the excellent good fellowship that existed between them.

Saltash turned back into the room, and threw himself down by his host.  “That’s right,” he said as the door closed upon the brother and sister.  “Now we can talk.”

Jake pushed a box of cigars to him.  His keen eyes took Saltash in with the attention of the man accustomed to probe beneath the surface.  There were not many who could hide from Jake Bolton anything he desired to know.