Part 36 (1/2)

”You know quite well what I mean,” he said. ”You know that it isn't true.”

”What isn't true?” Saltash came swiftly back across the room, moving as if goaded. He took his tumbler from the mantel-piece and drank the contents almost at a gulp. ”Go on!” he said, with his back to Larpent.

”May as well finish now you've begun. What isn't true?”

Larpent lounged in his chair and watched him, absolutely unmoved.

”When a thing is actually in existence--an accomplished fact--it's rather futile to talk of guarding against it,” he said, in his brief, unsympathetic voice. ”You've been extraordinarily generous to the imp, and it isn't surprising that she should be extraordinarily grateful. She wouldn't be human if she weren't. But when it comes to handing her on to another fellow--well, she may consent, but it won't be because she wants to, but because it's the only thing left. She knows well enough by this time that what she really wants is out of her reach.”

Again Saltash made a fierce movement, but he did not turn or speak.

Larpent took out his pipe and began to fill it. ”You've been too good a friend to her,” he went on somewhat grimly, ”and you're not made of the right stuff for that sort of thing. I'm sorry for the kid because she's a bit of a pagan too, and it's hard to have to embrace respectability whether you want to or not.”

”Oh, d.a.m.n!” Saltash exclaimed, suddenly and violently. ”What more could any man have done? What the devil are you driving at?”

He turned upon Larpent almost menacingly, and found the steady eyes, still with that icy glint of humour in them, unflinchingly awaiting his challenge.

”You want to get married,” the sailor said imperturbably. ”Why in the name of all the stars of destiny don't you marry her? She may not have the blue blood in her veins, but blood isn't everything, and you've got enough for two. And it's my opinion you'd find her considerably easier to please than some--less strict in her views too, which is always an advantage to a man of your varying moods.”

Saltash's laugh had a curious jarring sound as of something broken. ”Oh, you think that would be a suitable arrangement, do you? And how long do you think I should stick to her? How long would it be before she ran away?”

”I never speculate so far as you are concerned,” said Larpent, shaking the tobacco back into his pouch with care.

”You think it wouldn't matter, perhaps?” gibed Saltash. ”My royal house is so inured to scandal that no one would expect anything else?”

”I don't think she is the sort to run away,” said Larpent quietly. ”And I'm pretty sure of one thing. You could hold her if you tried.”

”An ideal arrangement!” sneered Saltash. ”And I should then settle down to a G.o.dly, righteous, and sober life, I suppose? Is that the idea?”

”You said it,” observed Larpent, pus.h.i.+ng his pipe into his mouth.

Saltash lodged one foot on the high fender, and stared at it. The sneer died out of his face and the old look, half mischievous, half melancholy, took its pace. ”I haven't--seriously--contemplated marriage for eight years,” he said, his mouth twitching a little as with a smile suppressed.

”Not since the day I tried to steal Maud Brian away from Jake--and failed--rather signally. I don't think I've ever done anything quite so low down since.”

Larpent lighted his pipe with grave attention. ”A good thing for you both that you did fail!” he observed.

”Think so?” Saltash glanced at him. ”Why?”

”She isn't the woman for you.” Larpent spoke with the absolute conviction of one who knows. ”She has too many ideals. Now this sprat you caught at Valrosa--has none.”

”Not so sure of that,” said Saltash.

”Well, no illusions anyway.” There was a hint of compa.s.sion in Larpent's voice. ”It wasn't because she trusted you that she put herself under your protection. She didn't trust you. She simply chucked herself at you with her eyes open. Like Jonah's whale, you were the only shelter within reach. I'd wager a substantial sum that she's never had any illusions about you. But if you held up your little finger she'd come to you. She's your property, and it isn't in her to do anything else, let her down as often as you will.”

Saltash made an excruciating grimace. ”My good fellow, spare me!

That's just where the shoe pinches. I've broken faith with her already.

But--d.a.m.nation!--what else could I do? I didn't choose the part of virtuous hero. It was thrust upon me. The G.o.ds are making sport of me. I am lost in a labyrinth of virtue, and horribly--most horribly--sick of it. I nearly broke through once, but the wreck pulled me up, and when I recovered from that, I was more hopelessly lost than before.”

”So you are not enjoying it either!” remarked Larpent, with the glimmer of a smile. ”But you don't seem to have let her down very far.”