"Why not bring her?" said Maud smiling.
He shook his head. "No. I'll come over one day—on Sunday perhaps—and see you all again. I won't—handicap her—by bringing her."
She understood him, and gave him her hand, but the fervour with which he received and kissed it surprised her into drawing it away more quickly than she had intended.
He laughed at the action. "I am only saluting motherhood," he explained.
But she shook her head and passed on. There were moments when even she who knew him so well was not wholly sure of him.
They descended again and Saltash turned towards the drawing-room.
"Let's have some music!" he said, and dropped down before Maud's piano.
"You are tired, ma chère. You shall listen."
He began to play an old French chanson that once they had sung together, and Maud leaned back on a deep settee near him and dreamily surrendered herself to its charm.
Charlie's touch had always been a sheer delight to her. It held her now with the old sweet spell. His spirit spoke to hers with an intimacy which ordinary converse had never attained. It was by his music that he first had spoken to her soul. In music they were always in complete accord.
She was half-asleep in her corner with the old dog lying at her feet when Jake and Bunny came in, and Saltash very swiftly, with muffled chords, brought his performance to an end.