The boy's eyes gave him a shining look. "Because she belongs to you," he said.
"Oh!" Saltash puffed at his cigarette for a few seconds. "You'd made up your mind to throw in your fortunes with mine, had you?"
Toby nodded. "I wanted to—if you'd have me."
"Seems I haven't much choice," remarked Saltash. "And what are you going to do when you're tired of me? Fling yourself at someone else's head, I suppose?"
Again he saw the hot colour flood the thin face, but the boyish eyes did not flinch from his. "No, I shan't do that," said Toby, after brief reflection. "I'll just go right under next time."
"Oh, will you?" said Saltash. "And so remain—a blot on my escutcheon for all time. Well now, look here! You say you're honest?"
"Yes, sir," said Toby with breathless assurance, and sprang up and stood before him with the words, as though challenging criticism.
Saltash poked at him with his foot, as he sat. "Make me a promise?" he asked casually.
"Anything you wish, my lord," said Toby promptly.
Saltash grinned at him. "Be careful! I see you are of a rash and impulsive disposition, and I like my slaves to have a little discretion. The promise I want is that whatever happens to you,—however much I kick you or bash you or generally ill-use you—you'll never jump overboard or do anything silly of that kind. Is it done?"