Bunny stood for some moments regarding him, his boyish face stern and troubled. Up to that point, against his will, he had believed him; from it, he believed him no longer. But--he faced the truth however it might gall him--he was pitted against a skilled fencer, and he was powerless. Experience could baffle him at every turn. "Do you tell me you have never realized that she cared for you?" he blurted forth abruptly, and there was something akin to agony in his utterance of the words. He knew that he was baring his breast for the stroke as he forced them out. But Saltash did not strike. Just for an instant he showed surprise. Then--quite suddenly he lowered his weapon. He faced Bunny with a smile of comradeship. "Quite honestly, Bunny," he said, "if I had realized it, it wouldn't have made any difference. I have no use for sentimental devotion at my age. She has never been more to me than--a puppy that plays with your hand." "Ah," Bunny said, and swung away from him with the words. "I suppose that is how you treat them all. Women and dogs--they're very much alike." "Not in every respect," said Saltash. "I should say that Toby is an exception anyway. She knows play from earnest." "Does she?" said Bunny. He paused a moment, as if trying to concentrate his forces; then he turned to Saltash again. "I'm going back now. I can't dine with you--though I've no desire to quarrel. But you see--you must understand--that I can never--accept anything from you again. I'm sorry--but I can't." "What are you going to do?" said Saltash. Bunny hesitated, his boyish face a white mask of misery. Saltash reached out a second time and touched him lightly, almost caressingly, with the point of his switch. "What's the matter with you, Bunny?" he said. "Think I've lied to you?" Bunny met his look. "I don't want to quarrel with you," he said. "It isn't--somehow it isn't--worth it." "Thanks!" said Saltash, and briefly laughed. "You place my friendship at a pretty high figure then. Tell me what you're going to do!" "What is it to you what I do?" A quick gleam shone for an instant in Bunny's eyes, dispelling the look of stricken misery. "I'm not asking you to help me." "I've grasped that," said Saltash. "But even so, I may be able to lend a hand. As you say, there is not much point in our quarrelling. There's nothing to quarrel about that I can see--except that you've called me a liar for no particular good reason!" "Do you object to that?" said Bunny. Saltash made a careless gesture. "Perhaps---as you say--it isn't worth it. All the same, I've a certain right to know what you propose to do, since, I gather, I have not managed to satisfy you." "A right!" flashed Bunny. "Yes, a right." Saltash's voice was suddenly and suavely confident. "You may forget--or possibly you may remember--that I gave my protection to Nonette on the day she came to me for it, and I have never withdrawn it since. What matters to her--matters to me."