So you've got a boy at last! Hope it's a good one!"
"He'd better be, hadn't he, Jake?" struck in Bunny. "The imp is six months old now and goes for a canter on The Hundredth Chance every day when I'm at home. You actually haven't seen him yet, Charlie? What a rotter you were to be away all the winter!"
"Well, I'm home now anyway," said Saltash, with a comical glance at Jake.
"Am I to be allowed to call and view the latest acquisition?"
Jake was looking straight at him. "Are you—alone at the Castle, my lord?" he asked after a moment.
Saltash began to laugh. "Of course I'm alone! What did you expect? Ah, I see!" His glance flashed to Bunny. "Yes, I am quite alone—most conspicuously and virtuously unaccompanied. Come and see for yourself! Search the Castle from turret-chamber to dungeon! You will find nothing but the most monastic emptiness. I've turned into a hermit. Haven't they made that discovery yet? My recent deliverance from what I must admit was a decidedly awkward predicament in the Channel has sobered me to such an extent that on my life I begin to doubt if I shall ever be anything but a dull dog again. Yes, that's the truth, Jake. You can take it or leave it. But I'm coming to see Maud in any case. When is my presence least likely to cause you inconvenience?"
"Oh, damn it, Jake!" broke in Bunny with sudden heat. "You know Maud said you were to ask him to dine if he turned up."
"You shut up, my son!" commanded Jake with absolute serenity. "It's not any business of yours anyway. We'll send you to bed before dinner if you aren't mighty careful."
Bunny laughed at the threat, but his sallow boyish face coloured sensitively notwithstanding.
Saltash laughed also. "Oh, you needn't do that, Jake. I'm as harmless as any sucking dove, I assure you. You'll have to put up with me now. When shall I come?"
"Come tonight!" said Jake with quiet decision. "Eight o'clock if that suits you. Afraid I must go now. Bunny, take his lordship to see Prince Charlie!"
He lifted a hand in salute and turned away—a man of no pretensions either social or intellectual, yet who knew how to hold his own with high and low alike.
"Keeps you in order still, does he?" gibed Saltash, as he watched him go.
"You're getting too old to be on a leading-string, mon cher."
Bunny frowned at the careless words. "You don't know him. He's not that sort of ass. We're pals, Jake and I, and I'm proud of it."
"Of course you are!" said Saltash comfortably. "Didn't I tell you long ago that he was a gentleman? It's the way he's made. Hewn out of raw material, but the real thing and no mistake. You must never quarrel with him on my account, Bunny, my lad. It would be very poor economy on your part."
"I shan't do that," said Bunny. "But he's got to do you justice. Maud says the same."
Saltash laughed aloud. "But, my dear chap, nobody ever does that! I don't myself!"
Bunny looked at him with affection. "You always have tried to make yourself out a worse rotter than you really are, haven't you, Charlie? I always tell Jake so."
"No, it's not my doing," said Saltash lightly. "That's the rest of the world, mon ami. They like their pictures highly coloured. So—pourquoi pas?"
He snapped his fingers and laughed, and they passed on together with careless jesting and friendly chaff. Saltash had always been kind to young Bernard Brian. The boy had been a helpless cripple in his childhood, and he had developed a keen appreciation for all kindness during those days which nothing could now efface. Whatever Saltash's morals, he was a friend, and as such Bunny never failed to treat him. They spent the rest of the afternoon together in and out of the enclosure, and when amidst wild enthusiasm Prince Charlie won his maiden race, the two were waiting side by side to congratulate Jake as he led the victor in. Saltash departed soon afterwards and motored back to Burchester Castle to dress. And then Bunny, half-laughing, half-apologetic, turned to his brother-in-law.
"I can't help being decent to Charlie, Jake. I don't care a damn what they say."
Jake gave him a straight look from under his rough red brows. "I'm not blaming you," he said.
CHAPTER II
MAUD BOLTON
Someone was singing a baby lullaby very softly in the beautiful room with the bay window that looked straight over the rolling down. It was a very sweet voice that sang, and sometimes the low notes were a little tremulous as though some tender emotion thrilled through the song. The singer was lying back in a rocking-chair close to the bay-window with her baby in her arms.
Beyond the long, undulating slope there stretched a silver line of sea that gleamed with a still radiance in the light of the dying day. And Maud Bolton, who once had been that proud and desolate girl Maud Brian, gazed out upon it with happy, dreaming eyes. It had been a hot spring day and she was tired, but it was a pleasant weariness, and the little body that nestled on her breast brought sheer rapture to her woman's heart. It was the baby boy for whom for years she had longed in vain.
There came a slight sound at an open door behind her that led to another room. She turned her head with a quick smile.
"Jake!"
He came, treading softly, and stood beside her. The failing light on his rugged face showed it strangely softened, almost transformed.
He stooped after a moment and kissed her. "Why isn't the little 'un in bed?" he said, with his eyes on the sleeping baby-face.
The smile still lingered about her lips. "I thought he and I would both of us have a little treat tonight. Do you know he is six months old today?"
Jake's square fingers caressed the baby's placid forehead. "Yes, I know," he said.
Maud uttered a faint sigh. "And so—according to the law of the Medes and Persians—he is not going to sleep with his mother any longer. He is to be banished to the nursery. But I thought I would put him to sleep first."
Jake's look came to her face. "There's no law that I know of," he said in his slow way. "Keep him in here if you want to!"
She lifted her eyes to his—beautiful eyes, deeply violet. "Thank you,
Jake. But it's all settled, and he won't mind."
"He doesn't matter so much," said Jake.
She smiled and laid her cheek against his arm. "No, it's all right. Nurse understands him. I won't have him again unless he's ill. I should have to then."
"Of course," said Jake. He bent down. "Let me have him! I'll take him to the nursery."
"Ah, don't wake him!" she said.
Jake's arms encompassed the little bundle and lifted it from her. The baby made a small noise that sounded like a protest, but he did not open his eyes.
"Don't you come!" said Jake.
