"No—no!" said Saltash, and gently relinquished his hold. "Don't forget that you are a favourite of the gods! That counts for something, my Toby. They don't take up with everybody."
"They haven't done much for me so far," said Toby, suddenly rebellious.
"Hush!" said Saltash, with semi-comic warning. "You are too young to say that."
"I am—older than you think, sir," said Toby, colouring painfully and turning from his look.
"No, you're not!" Swiftly, with a certain arrogance, Saltash made answer. "I know—how old you are, child. It is written in your eyes. They have always told me—all I need to know." Then, very tenderly, as Toby's hands covered them from his look: "Mais, Mignonette, they have never told me anything that you could wish me not to know."
He slipped his arm again about the slender shoulders and pressed them closely for a moment. Then he stood up and turned to go.
He was smiling as he passed out—the smile of the gambler who knows that he holds a winning card.