Chapter XXII: The Faithful Widower

Lord Saltash's desire to see the stud evaporated completely during the afternoon. He stayed and made himself extremely charming to Mrs. Sheppard, who returned with Jake, very fluttered and arch, to spend an hour--only an hour or Giles would be so cross--in her daughter's new home. And when she left again under Jake's escort it was already growing dark.

"I've got to talk business with Jake so I may as well wait till he comes back," said Lord Saltash comfortably, and they gathered round the blazing fire and sat in luxurious enjoyment.

Undoubtedly Bunny had enjoyed himself that afternoon, but he had begun to grow restless and irritable, signs which Maud had learned to recognize as the heralds of a wakeful night. She wondered with some uneasiness if Jake would be able to manage him with his usual success.

"You haven't got a piano here, have you?" asked Saltash in a pause.

She told him, "No."

In the old days they had sung duets together. She wondered if he remembered.

He went lightly on. "You will have to use the one at the Castle. You mustn't let your talents run to seed. Come up any day, you and Bunny. The place will always be open to you, whether I am there or not."

She thanked him for the thought. "We should love to come; I have had no opportunities for playing for months, not since we left London."

"No?" he said. "I say, what made your mother come to Fairharbour? It's a hole of a place to live in."

She felt her face burn in the firelight. She hesitated, and at once Bunny cut in.

"The mother always has an eye on the main chance," he said. "And she is a great believer in friendship. When things look black she always likes to hunt up old friends and give them their opportunity."

His meaning was not obscure. Maud made a quick movement of protest; but Lord Saltash's inconsequent laugh covered her discomfiture on the instant.

"Poor Lady Brian! I am afraid her luck and mine are made of the same rotten material. It tears at a touch. But I should have thought she might have chosen a sounder man than Sheppard of 'The Anchor' for a husband."

"Isn't he sound?" asked Maud quickly.

Lord Saltash laughed again. "I could sell him up--lock, stock, and barrel--to-morrow if I wanted."

She started. "Charlie! You don't mean that!"

He looked at her with a gleam of mischief in his queer eyes. "Of course I do! 'The Anchor' belongs to me, and all that is in it. It's mortgaged for considerably more than its value, and I hold the mortgage. Did he never mention that detail?"

Maud sat speechless.

He stretched out a lazy hand. "It's all right, Queen Maud. He is quite safe so long as he behaves decently to you and yours. He's something of a brute-beast, I believe? Well, if he needs any salutary correction, you must let me know."

His ugly face laughed into hers; the light in his eyes was half-mocking, half-tender.

"It's good to know that there may be something left that I can yet do for you," he said. "The worthy Jake may have a stout right arm, but he is not a Croesus."

He turned the conversation in his easy, well-bred fashion, and her embarrassment died down. But the carelessly uttered information dwelt persistently in her mind, even though she found herself talking of indifferent things. It was strange that all her affairs should be so completely--and it seemed so irrevocably--under the direct control of this man whom she had once so resolutely driven out of her life. Fate or chance had thrown them together again. A little secret tremor went through her. What would come of it?

She had not attempted to touch the hand he had stretched forth to her. It had fastened upon the arm of the chair in which she sat and rested there. Presently she looked down at it, her eyes attracted by the gleam of the ring upon it.

"Your own," murmured Saltash. "Violets blue as your eyes!"

He moved his hand in the firelight, and the sapphire shone in the midst of the diamonds like a deep blue flame in the heart of a leaping fire. He drew a little nearer to her.

"You sent it back to me," he said. "I have worn it--like a faithful widower--ever since."

Her heart contracted with an odd little pain. "Don't wax sentimental, Charlie!" she pleaded, with a difficult smile.

"Would you prefer me heartless?" he said; but he withdrew his hand, and the sapphire burned no more.

They began to talk again upon ordinary topics, and the conversation turned upon the Graydown Steeplechase Races of the morrow. Two horses from the Burchester Stud were running.

"Beauties they are too!" said Bunny, with enthusiasm. "Sam Vickers swears they'll win." He uttered his quick, impatient sigh. "What wouldn't I give to see 'em do it!"

"Why shouldn't you?" said Saltash. "I'll take you over."

"Will you?" cried Bunny, with shining eyes.

And in the same breath. "No, no!" said Maud quickly. "Charlie! Why do you suggest these impossible things?"

Saltash laughed. "I never suggest the impossible," he said. "Bunny--and you too--can come along in the car if you will. I can make him quite comfortable with cushions."

But Maud shook her head. "It isn't so easy as it used to be. And he gets tired so soon. Really--really, it can't be done!"

"Oh, Maud, do shut up!" broke in Bunny. "You jaw like any old woman! Of course I'll come, Charlie! When will you be round?"

Lord Saltash looked at Maud with an impish expression. "I am afraid you are in the minority, _ma reine_. But leave it to me! I'll undertake that no harm is done."

Maud rose suddenly from her chair. She stood upright and slender in the firelight. "I can't consent to it," she said with resolution.

He sprang instantly to his feet. "You don't want to come?" he said.

She met his challenging eyes with an effort. "Don't make things difficult," she begged in a low voice.

"But if I got your mother to come too!" he urged. "She used to love race-meetings."

She turned her eyes away. "Neither Bunny nor I can go," she said steadily.

"I say I will go!" cried Bunny hotly. "I'm old enough to do as I like, and I won't be dictated to by anyone."

Saltash turned back to him. "I'll take you one day, old chap. But the queen's word is law, you know. We can't go in direct opposition to it. Moreover," with audacious simplicity, "it wouldn't be great sport for any one if the queen herself did not deign to accompany us."

"She'll go fast enough if I do," said Bunny. "She sticks to me like a leech."

"Lucky beggar!" said Saltash.

He glanced back at Maud. She was still on her feet, turned partially from him. It was evident that she did not mean to renew the friendly intercourse that his unwelcome suggestion had interrupted.

"I must get back to my lonely castle," said Saltash.

She turned then, as he had known she would. "No, don't go--why should you?--till--till Jake comes back!"

He laughed into her eyes. "Now, don't try to persuade me that you want me any longer! I know the signs too well. I am going to walk down and meet Jake, as I must have a word with him about the animals. By the way, why don't you call him Jacob? The other is too frivolous for your august lips."

There was a sting in the smiling question of which she alone was aware. She knew that he had it in him to be malicious at times. But she would not seem to notice.

"Are you backing either of the horses running to-morrow?" she asked.

He raised his agile brows. "But, of course I am. Who ever went to a meeting without putting something on? And you don't suppose I would lay a wager against one of my own beasts, do you?"

"You always back your own before anyone else's?" she said.

"Of course," he made prompt reply. "We've pulled off a good many events since Jake took command."

"Yes," she said slowly. "He is a genius with horses."

"Oh, quite useful," said Saltash carelessly. "Well, good night to you both! Many thanks for your kind hospitality! Don't forget the piano at the Castle! Come and go exactly as you like! I will give orders to that effect."

"You are very kind," she said.

But the pleasant intimacy between them was broken. She knew that her refusal to go with him on the morrow had hurt him. He was in a mood to sting at a touch.

She gave him her hand with genuine regret. "Good-bye, Charlie!" she said gently.

He took it with a gesture that made her remember that his mother had been a Frenchwoman. "Good night, _ma chere_!" he said lightly. "When thou art dreaming, think of me!"

Her faint laugh had a note of bitterness. "But I never dream," she said.