She lifted her eyes to him as he prowled near her, and they held a hint of mischief.  At his murmured words she rose.

“You’d like to?” he questioned.

She nodded.  “Of course; love it.  You know the way.  You lead!”

Bunny needed no second bidding.  He went straight to the tall door and held it open for her.  Toby, very slim and girlish in her white raiment, cocked her chin and walked out in state.  But the moment they were alone she turned upon him a face brimful of laughter.

“Oh, now we can enjoy ourselves!  I’ve been feeling so proper all the evening.  Quick!  Where shall we go?”

“Into the garden,” said Bunny.  “Or wait!  Come up on to the battlements!  It’s ripping up there.”

She thrust her hand eagerly into his.  “I shall love that.  Which way do we go?”

“Through the music-room,” said Bunny.

He caught and held her hand.  They ran up one of the wide stairways that branched north and south to the Gallery.  Saltash’s music followed them from the drawing-room as they went.  He was playing a haunting Spanish love-song, and Toby shivered and quickened her pace.

They reached another oak door which Bunny opened, drawing her impetuously forward.  “This is Charlie’s own particular sanctum.  Rather a ripping place, isn’t it?  He’s got a secret den that leads somewhere out of it, but no one knows how to get in.”

He led her over a polished oak floor into a long, almost empty apartment with turreted windows at each end, and a grand piano near one of them that shone darkly in the shaded lamplight.  Underfoot were Persian rugs, exquisite of tint and rich of texture.  Two or three deep divans completed the furniture of the room giving it a look of Eastern magnificence that strangely lured the senses.

“Rather like a harem I always think,” said Bunny, pausing to look round.  “There’s an Arabian Nights sort of flavour about it that rather gets hold of one.  Why?  You’re shivering!  Surely you’re not cold!”

“No, I’m not cold,” said Toby.  “But I don’t like this place.  It’s creepy.  Let’s go!”

But Bunny lingered.  “What’s the matter with it?  It’s luxurious enough.  I’ve always rather liked coming in here.”

Toby made a small but vehement gesture of protest.  “Then you like horrid things,” she said.  “There’s no air in here;—­only—­only—­scent.”

Bunny sniffed.  “Well, it’s quite subtle anyhow; not enough to upset anybody.  Rather a seductive perfume, what?”

She surprised him by stamping in sudden fury upon the bare floor.  “It’s beastly!  It’s hateful!  How can you like it?  It—­it—­it’s bad!  It’s—­damnable!”

Bunny stared at her.  “Well, Charlie designed it anyway.  It’s the one corner in the whole Castle that is individually his.  What on earth is there that you don’t like about it?”

“Everything—­everything!” declared Toby passionately.  “I don’t want to stay here another minute.  Show me the way out!”