Her fingers closed upon his.  “I hate you to be world-tired and lonely.  But I would rather have you that than feeding on husks.”

“I’m not doing that at the present moment,” he said.  “I’m living like a beastly hermit—­except that I cut my nails and brush my hair occasionally.  You’ve heard about the woman on the yacht, of course?”

Her silence answered him, and he laughed again.

“A lie, chere reine!  There was no woman.”

“Oh, Charlie!” she said impulsively.  “Forgive me for believing it!”

He made a royal gesture.  “I forgive you.  Moreover, the lie was not without foundation.  There was a child on board of the female species,—­very small and badly frightened.  We saved her between us, Larpent and I. She belongs to Larpent—­not to me.”

“You mean she is his daughter?” questioned Maud.

“That is exactly what I mean.  Dull explanation, isn’t it?  Larpent was badly damaged.  He is undergoing repairs in a nursing home, and the child—­well, I’ve got to look after the child. Figurez-vous, ma chere! I—­a protector of infants! Un peu comique, n’est-ce pas?”

“Ah!” Maud said, with compassion.  “The poor little thing must come to us.  I will take care of her.  When will you bring her?”

“You think her present plight is not to be endured for another moment?” laughed Saltash. “Bien! I will send her to you tomorrow.”

“Ah!  I don’t mean she is not in safe keeping,” protested Maud.  “How old is she?  Older than Eileen?”

“A little older than that,” said Saltash.  “She’s nineteen.”

“Oh!” said Maud.

“Perhaps you do mean it now!” gibed Saltash, getting up in his sudden fashion.

Maud rose also, facing him in the starlight.  “No, Charlie I don’t!  Because I know that the big things are in you and always have been, I would trust you—­with my most precious possession.”

He laughed again.  “But when I gave it back to you, you would look all round it to make sure it hadn’t been broken and stuck together again, wouldn’t you, Maud of the Roses?”

“No,” she said.  “I wouldn’t.  I know—­Charles Rex—­better than that.”

He made her a sweeping bow.  “Most fair and gracious lady, do not forget that my crest is a fox’s head and the motto thereupon, ‘Sans vertu!’”

She smiled, looking at him with steadfast eyes.  “I will give you another motto, Charlie,” she said.  “Those we love—­we trust.”

He made an abrupt movement.  It was almost a protest.  “For how long?  Do you really love me, Maud of the Roses?”

She gave him both her hands without drawing any nearer.  Her eyes were shining as stars that shine through mist.  “Yes, I love you, Charlie,” she said, “so much that I can’t go on being happy till I know that you are too.”

He bent very low, so that his dark face was wholly hidden from her.  “I’ve never been—­really happy—­since the day I lost you,” he said.