"We have drunk out of the same gla.s.s before now," he said. "We can do it again."

She looked at him then, relief and doubt struggling together in her eyes.

"Are you angry?" she said.

His answering look baffled her. "No," he said.

She laid a conciliatory hand upon his arm. "You are! I'm sure you are!"

"I am not," said Saltash.

"Then why aren't you?" demanded Toby, with sudden spirit.

The monkeyish grin leapt into his face. "Because I know what you said,"

he told her coolly. "It is not easy--you will never find it easy--to deceive me."

She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away. Her face was on fire. "I said you did not make the most of life," she flung at him. "And it's true! You don't! You don't!"

"How do you know that?" said Saltash.

She did not answer him. Her head was bent over the basket. She threw out one thing after another with nervous rapidity, and once, as he watched her, there came a faint sound that was like a hastily suppressed sob.

Saltash got to his feet with disconcerting suddenness and walked away.

When he returned some minutes later with a half-smoked cigarette between his lips, she was sitting demurely awaiting him, the picnic ready spread.

He scarcely looked at her but he flicked her cheek as he sat down, and in a moment she turned and smiled at him.

"I have found another cup," she said.

"So I see," said Saltash, and before she could realize his mood he picked it up and flung it at the trunk of a tree some yards away. It shivered in fragments on the moss, and Toby gasped and stared at him wide-eyed.

He laughed in his careless fashion at her amazement. "Now we shall drink out of one cup!" he said.

"Was that--was that--why you did it?" she stammered breathlessly.

He blew a cloud of smoke into the air with a gesture of royal indifference. "Even so,--_madame_!" he said. "One does these things--with a wife. You see, a wife--is different."

"I--I see," said Toby.

CHAPTER IV

THE IDOL OF PARIS

It was dark when they returned to the hotel, but Paris shone with a million lights. The hotel itself had a festive air. There were flowers in all directions, and a red carpet had been laid upon the steps.

"Rozelle Daubeni is expected," said Saltash.

"Who?" Toby stopped short in the act of descending. Her face shone white in the glare. A moment before she had been laughing but the laugh went into her question with a little choked sound. "Who did you say?" she questioned more coherently.

"Mademoiselle Daubeni--the idol of Paris. Never heard of her?" Saltash handed her lightly down. "She is coming to a dance in the great _salon_ tonight. You shall see her. She is--a thing to remember."

Toby gave a quick shiver. "Yes, I have heard of her too much--too much--I don't want to see her. Shall we dine upstairs?"

"Oh, I think not," said Saltash with decision. "You are too retiring, _ma chere_. It doesn't become--a lady of your position."

He followed her towards the lift. The vestibule was full of people, laughing and talking, awaiting the coming of the favourite. But as the girl in her blue cloak went through, a sudden hush fell. Women lifted gla.s.ses to look at her, and men turned to watch.

Saltash sauntered behind her in his regal way, looking neither to right nor left, yet fully aware of all he pa.s.sed. No one accosted him. There were times when even those who knew him well would have hesitated to do so. He could surround himself with an atmosphere so suavely impersonal as to be quite impenetrable to all.

It surrounded him now. He walked like a king through a crowd of courtiers, and the buzz of talk did not spring up again till he was out of sight.

"So you do not want to see _le premiere danseuse du siecle!_" he commented, as he entered the sitting-room of their suite behind Toby.

She turned, blue eyes wide with protest in her white face. "Do you wish me to see her, my lord? That--woman!"

He frowned upon her suddenly. "Call me Charles! Do you hear? We will play this game according to rule--or not at all."

"You are angry," Toby said, and turned still whiter.

He came to her, thrust a quick arm about her. "I am not angry, _mignonne_, at least not with you. But you must take your proper place. I can't keep you in hiding here. Those gaping fools downstairs--they have got to understand. You are not my latest whim, but a permanent inst.i.tution. You are--my wife."

She shivered in his hold, but she clung to him. "I don't feel like--a permanent inst.i.tution," she told him rather piteously. "And when you are angry--"

"I am not angry," said Saltash, and tweaked her ear as though she had been a boy. "But--whether you feel like it or not--you are my wife, and you have got to play the part. _C'est entendu, n'est-ce-pas?_"

"Whatever you wish," said Toby faintly.

He set her free. "You must look your best tonight. Wear blue! It is your colour. I shall present Spentoli to you. And tomorrow he will want to paint you."

Toby stiffened. "That--_canaille_!" she said.

He looked at her in surprise. "What is the matter with you tonight, Nonette? You are hating all the world."

Her blue eyes blazed. "I don't want to meet Spentoli," she said. "He has an evil eye. You--you--I look to you to--to--to protect me."

"My good child!" said Saltash.

He turned aside to light a cigarette, and there was a pause. But Toby still stood rigid, as it were on guard. He spoke again after a moment, and his voice was kind though it had a certain dominant quality also.

"Nonette, you need not be afraid when you are with me. I shall protect you. Now go and dress! When you are ready, come to me for inspection! And remember! You are to look your best tonight."

He turned with the last words and looked at her. His brows went up as he realized her att.i.tude--the tense resistance of the slight figure withstanding him.

But it was only for a moment or two that the girl maintained her stand.