Saltash's ugly face softened miraculously at her action. The jest died on his lips. "Why, Nonette!" he said. "Nonette!"
She strangled another sob. Her face was burning, quivering, appealing, no longer the face of a boy. "I thought you'd forgotten to come," she said.
"What? Was I expected to lunch?" said Saltash. "Ah! Was that why you wouldn't go to church?"
Toby looked up, desperately smiling. "It may have been—partly. But I never do go. Do you?"
"Not often," said Saltash. "I might if I stayed here. There's no knowing.
You'll be pleased to hear your daddy is better. He's coming down to the
Castle to convalesce. And when he's done that, I'm going to have a
party—a coming-out party—for you."
"For me!" Toby gasped, staring at him with scared blue eyes. "I hope you won't, sir," she said.
He laughed back at her, his brows working mischievously. "Mais pourquoi pas, mignonne? You are old enough. Maud will come and be hostess, won't you, Maud? You shall have Jake too for a watch-dog, if you want him. After that, you shall be presented at Court, when you've learnt to curtsey prettily instead of turning somersaults. You must let your hair grow, Nonette, and leave off wearing breeks. You've got to be a credit to me."
"Oh, damn!" said Toby in dismay. "I mean—oh, bother!"
"Yes, it's a good thing you mean only that, isn't it?" laughed Saltash.
"If you go on wearing those masculine things much longer, you'll have
Jake punching your head for little slips of that kind. He's getting
mighty particular, I'm told."
"Not afraid of Jake!" said Toby, casting a swift look at her host.