She coloured up to the soft fair hair that clustered about her blue-veined temples, and turned from him with an odd little indrawn breath.  “Yes!” she said.  “Yes!”—­paused an instant as if about to say more; then again in a whisper, “Yes!” she said, and went lightly away as if the subject were too sacred for further discussion.

“Good land!” said Jake again, and departed to his own room in grim amazement.

Saltash the sinner was well known to him and by no means uncongenial; but Saltash the saint, not only beloved, but reverenced and enshrined as such, as something beyond his comprehension!  How on earth had he managed to achieve his sainthood?

CHAPTER IX

THE IDOL

“Well?” said Saltash with quizzical interest.  “Where is she?  And how is she getting on?”

It was the Sunday afternoon of his promised visit, a day soft with spring showers and fleeting sunshine.  Maud sat in a basket-chair on the verandah and regarded him with puzzled eyes.  She passed his questions by.

“Charlie,” she said, “where does she come from?”

He raised his shoulders expressively.  “Where do all women come from—­and why, chere reine?  It would be such a peaceful planet without them.”

He was in a baffling mood, and she knew better than to pursue the subject under those conditions.  She abandoned her effort with a sigh.

“She is not a woman; she is a child, very charming but utterly irresponsible.  She is in the training field just now with Jake and Bunny.  She is a positive delight to Jake.  She can do anything with the horses.”

“But not such a delight to you?” suggested Saltash shrewdly.

Maud hesitated momentarily.  “I love her of course,” she said then.  “But—­though I have tried to make her feel at ease—­I think she is a little afraid of me—­afraid anyhow to be quite natural in my presence.”

“But are we any of us that?” protested Saltash.  “Are we not all on our best behaviour in the audience-chamber?”

Maud sighed again.  “They are all great pals,” she said irrelevantly.  “She and Bunny are terribly reckless.  I hope they won’t break their necks before they have done.”

“Or their hearts?” suggested Saltash, looking mischievous.

She smiled.  “I don’t think there is much danger of that, anyhow at present.  She is a positive child, Charlie,—­as young as Eileen in many ways, or perhaps younger.  Shall we walk down to the field and look at them?”

“Your servant, madam!” said Saltash readily.

He was on his feet in an instant, and she realized that he had been chafing to go since the moment of his arrival.

“You take a great interest in her,” she remarked, as they walked along the terrace.

He made his most appalling grimace.  “I have never had an infant to look after before,” he said “And—­I have to make my report to Larpent.”