He laughed jestingly. "You have never deceived me yet, _ma chere_,--not once, from the moment I found you shivering in my cabin up to the present. You couldn't if you tried."

Toby's blue eyes suddenly shone with a hot light. "So sure of that?" she said quickly. "You read me--so easily?"

"Like a book," said Saltash, with an arrogance but half-a.s.sumed.

"I cheated you--once," she said, breathing sharply.

"And I caught you," said Saltash.

"Only--only because--I meant you to," said Toby, under her breath.

He raised his brows in momentary surprise, and in a flash she laughed and clapped her hands. "I had you there, King Charles! You see, you are but a man after all."

He gave her a swift and piercing glance. "And what are you?" he said.

Her eyes fell swiftly before his look; she made no reply.

They returned to the hotel and lunched together. The incident of the morning seemed to be forgotten. Jake's name was not once mentioned between them. Toby was full of gaiety. The prospect of the run to Fontainebleau evidently filled her with delight.

She joined Saltash in the vestibule after the meal, clad in a light blue wrap they had purchased that morning.

He went to meet her, a quick gleam in his eyes; and a man to whom he had been talking--a slim, foreign-looking man with black moustache and imperial--turned sharply and gave her a hard stare.

Toby's chin went up. She looked exclusively at Saltash. Her bearing at that moment was that of a princess.

"The car is ready?" she questioned. "Shall we go?"

"By all means," said Saltash.

He nodded a careless farewell to the other man, and followed her, a smile twitching at his lips, the gleam still in his eyes.

"That man is Spentoli the sculptor," he said, as he handed her into the car. "A genius, Nonette! I should have presented him to you if you had not been so haughty."

"I hate geniuses," said Toby briefly.

He laughed at her. "_Mais vraiment!_ How many have you known?"

She considered for a moment, and finally decided that the question did not require an answer.

Saltash took the wheel and spun the little car round with considerable dexterity. "Yes, a genius!" he said. "One of the most wonderful of the age. His work is amazing--scarcely human. He paints too. All Paris raves over his work--with reason. His picture, 'The Victim'--" he looked at her suddenly--"What is the matter, _cherie_? Is the sun too strong for you?"

Toby's hand was shielding her eyes. Her lips were trembling. "Don't wait!" she murmured. "Don't wait! Let's get away! I am all right--just a little giddy, that's all."

He took her at her word, and sent the car swiftly forward. They pa.s.sed out into the crowded thoroughfare, and in a moment or two Toby leaned back, gazing before her with a white, set face.

Saltash asked no question. He did not even look at her, concentrating all his attention upon the task of extricating himself as swiftly as possible from the crush of vehicles around them.

It was a day of perfect autumn, and Paris lay basking in sunshine; but Saltash was a rapid traveller at all times, and it was not long before Paris was left behind. But even when free from the traffic, he did not speak or turn towards his companion, merely gave himself to the task of covering the ground as quickly as possible.

In the end it was Toby who spoke, abruptly, boyishly. "By jingo! You can drive!"

Saltash's face showed its own elastic grin. "You like this?"

"Rather!" said Toby with enthusiasm.

She threw off her silence and plunged forthwith into careless chatter--a mood to which he responded with the utmost readiness. When at length they ran into the shade of the forest, they were both in the highest spirits.

They had their tea in a mossy glade out of sight of the road. The sun was beginning to slant. Its rays fell in splashes of golden green all about them.

"Just the place for a duel!" said Saltash appreciatively.

"Have you ever fought a duel?" Toby looked at him over the picnic-basket with eyes of sparkling interest.

She had thrown aside her hat, and her fair hair gleamed as if it gave forth light. Saltash leaned his shoulders against a tree and watched her.

"I have never fought to kill," he said. "Honour is too easily satisfied in this country--though after all--" his smile was suddenly provocative--"there are very few things worth fighting for, Nonette."

Her eyes flashed their ready challenge. "Life being too short already?"

she suggested.

"Even so," said Charles Rex coolly.

Toby abruptly bent her head and muttered something into the picnic-basket.

"What?" said Saltash.

She pulled out a parcel of cakes and tossed them on to the ground.

"Nothing!" she said.

He leaned forward unexpectedly as she foraged for more, and gripped the small brown hand.

"Tell me what you said!" he commanded.

She flung him a look half-frightened, half-daring. "I said there was only one cup."

She would have released her hand with the words, but his fingers tightened like a spring. "_Pardonnez-moi!_ That was not what you said!"

She became pa.s.sive in his hold, but she said nothing.

"Tell me what you said!" Saltash said again.

A little tremor went through Toby. "Can we do--with only one cup?" she asked, not looking at him, her eyelids flickering nervously.

"Going to answer me?" said Saltash.

She shook her head and was silent.

He waited for perhaps ten seconds, and in that time a variety of different expressions showed and vanished on his ugly face. Then, just as Toby was beginning to tremble in real trepidation, he suddenly set her free.