"I see," said Jake slowly. He still looked hard into Saltash’s face, and there was that in the look that quelled derision. "In that case, there is nothing more to be said."
Saltash made him a slight bow that was not without a touch of hauteur. "I quite agree with you. It is an unprofitable subject. With Mrs. Bolton’s permission I will take my leave."
He turned to her, took and pressed her hand, sent a sudden droll smile into her grave face, and walked to the door.
Jake held it open for him, but very abruptly Saltash clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Come along, man! I’m going round the Stables. I’m sorry you’ve got a sore head, but I’m off to town this afternoon, so it’s now or never. By the way, we shall have to postpone the luncheon-party til a more convenient season. I’ve no doubt it’s all the same to you."
He had his way. Jake went with him, and Maud drew a breath of deep relief. She felt that another private interview with her husband just then would have been unendurable.
She sat down and leaned upon the table, feeling weak and unnerved. Not till several minutes had passed did she awake to the fact that she was holding Saltash’s ring--that old dear gift of his--tightly clasped within her quivering hands.
"I do hope as I don’t intrude," said Mrs. Wright, passing her handkerchief over her shining forehead. "I didn’t mean to take the liberty of calling, Mrs. Bolton, but your husband met my Tom the other day, and something he let fall made me think p’raps you’d be finding it a bit lonely; so I thought I’d come up on the chance."
She sat with her visitor in the little dark front room in which Jake kept his business books, his whips, and all the paraphernalia of his calling. It was a bare, office-like apartment, and reeked horribly of Jake’s tobacco; but Bunny was lying in the parlour and he had strenuously set his face against admitting the worthy Mrs. Wright there.
It was extremely cold, and Maud felt pinched and inhospitable. The grate was full of shavings, the whole place was cheerless and forlorn. It was a room that she scarcely ever entered, regarding it in fact more as Jake’s office than an alternative sitting-room.
Mrs. Wright, however, stout, red, comfortable, did not feel the cold. She sat with her umbrella propped against her chair and regarded her stiff young hostess with much geniality on her homely face.