"Well—Toby?" he said.
She twisted in his hold and faced him, but she kept his arm wound close about her, her hand tight gripped on his. "Are you—angry with me for coming?" she asked him quiveringly. "I—had to come."
He looked down into her eyes. "Bien, petite! Then you need—a friend," he said.
Her answering look was piteous. "I need—you," she said.
One of the old gay smiles flashed across his face. He seemed to challenge her to lightness. The grimness went out of his eyes like a shadow.
"And so you have come, ma mignonette, at the dead of night—at the risk of your reputation—and mine—"
Toby made an excruciating grimace, and broke impulsively in upon him. "It wasn't the dead of night when I started. I've been waiting hours—hours. But it doesn't matter. I've found you—at last. And you can't send me away now—like you did before—because—because—well, I've no one to go to. You might have done it if you'd come down earlier. But you can't do it—now." Her voice thrilled on a high note of triumph. "You've got to keep me—now. I've come—to stay."
"What?" said Saltash. He bent towards her, looking closely into her face. "Got to keep you, have I? What's that mean? Has Bunny been a brute to you? I could have sworn I'd made him understand."
She laughed in answer. "Bunny! I didn't wait to see him!"
"What?" Saltash said again.