Jake faced it unwaveringly for several seconds. Then: "Yes. I reckon it is up to you," he said, and turned deliberately away. "I'm going now."
"All right." Saltash's hand fell. "I give you credit for one thing, Jake," he said. "You haven't offered to take her off my hands. For that piece of forbearance I congratulate you. Do you want to see her before you go?"
"Not specially," said Jake.
Saltash's eyes followed him with a look half-malicious, half-curious.
"Nor to send her a message?" he questioned.
"No." Jake's tone was brief.
"You're not wanting to offer her a safe harbour when her present anchorage fails her?" jested Saltash.
Jake turned at the door as one goaded. "When that happens," he said very deliberately. "I guess she'll be past any help from me, poor kid!"
Saltash's black brows descended. He scowled hideously for a moment. Then, "I congratulate you again," he said coolly. "You are just beginning to see things—as they are."
Jake made a brief sound that might have indicated contempt and opened the door. He went out with finality, and Saltash listened to the tread of his retreating feet with a grin of sheer cynical triumph.
"So," he said lightly, "the villain scores at last!"