Part 61 (1/2)

He laughed jestingly. ”You have never deceived me yet, _ma chere_,--not once, from the moment I found you s.h.i.+vering 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 s.h.i.+elding 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 suns.h.i.+ne; 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!”