He paused, and suddenly the old monkey-like look of mischief flashed back into his face.
"I lay claim to the higher virtue, Jake," he said. "Heaven alone knows how long it will last. I've never scored over you before, but on this occasion—" He stopped with a careless wave of the hand.
"Yes," Jake said. "On this occasion—you've got me beat. But—I didn't fight for my own sake, nor yet for the off chance of downing you, which I own would have given me considerable pleasure once. It was for the child's sake." An unwonted note of entreaty suddenly sounded in his voice. "I don't know what your game is, my lord; but she's yours now—to make—or break. For God's sake—be decent to her—if you can!"
"If I can!" Saltash clapped a sudden hand upon Jake's shoulder, but though the action was obviously a kindly one, it held restraint as well. "Do you think I don't know how to make a woman happy, Jake? Think I haven't studied the subject hard enough? Think I'm a fool at the game?"
Jake looked him straight in the face. "No. I don't think you a fool, my lord," he said. "But I reckon there's one or two things that even you may have to learn. You've never yet made any woman permanently happy. There's only one way of doing that. Bunny would have done it—and won out too. But you—I'm not so sure of you."
"Oh, Bunny would have won out, would he?" Saltash's hand closed like a trap upon Jake's shoulder. There was a challenging quality in his smile.
Jake nodded. "Yes. Bunny's got the real stuff in him. Bunny would have put her happiness before his own always. He would have given her the love that lasts. It's the only thing worth having, after all."
"Well?" The challenge became more marked upon the swarthy face. The smile had vanished. "And you think I am incapable of that?"
"I haven't said so," Jake said sombrely.
"But it's up to me to prove it?" There was a certain insistence in
Saltash's tone, albeit a mocking spirit looked out of his eyes.