But as he turned towards the other room, the cynicism passed from his face. He stood for a moment or two motionless at the door; then broke into a careless whistle and opened it. CHAPTER III A WIFE IS DIFFERENT "Has he gone?" said Toby eagerly. She came into the room with a swift glance around. "What did he say? What did he do? Was he angry?" "I really don't know," Saltash said, supremely unconcerned. "He went. That's the main thing." Toby looked at him critically. "You were so quiet, both of you. Was there a row?" "Were you listening?" said Saltash. She coloured, and smiled disarmingly. "Part of the time--no, all the time. But I didn't hear anything--at least not much. Nothing that mattered. Are you angry?" He frowned upon her, but his eyes reassured. "I told you to smoke a cigarette." "I'm sorry," said Toby meekly. "Shall I smoke one now?" He pinched her ear. "No. We'll go out. You've got to shop. First though, I've got something for you. I'm not sure you deserve it, but that's a detail. Few of us ever do get our deserts in this naughty world." "What is it?" said Toby. Her bright eyes questioned him. She looked more than ever like an eager boy. He pulled a leather case out of his pocket and held it out to her. "Oh, what is it?" she said, and coloured more deeply. "You haven't--haven't--been buying me things?" "Open it!" said Saltash, with regal peremptoriness. But still she hesitated, till he suddenly laid his hands on hers and compelled her. She saw a single string of pearls on a bed of blue velvet. Her eyes came up to his in quick distress. "Oh, I ought not to take them!" she said. "And why not?" said Saltash. She bit her lip, almost as if she would burst into tears. "Monseigneur--" "Call me Charles!" he commanded. His hands still held hers. She dropped her eyes to them, and suddenly, very suddenly, she bent her head and kissed them. He started slightly, and in a moment he set her free, leaving the case in her hold. "_Eh bien!_" he said lightly. "That is understood. You like my pearls, _chérie_?" "I love--anything--that comes from you," she made low reply. "But these--but these--I ought not to take these." "But why not?" he questioned. "May I not make you a present? Are you not--my wife?" "Yes." More faintly came Toby's answer. "But--but--but--a wife is different. A wife--does not need--presents." "_Mais vraiment!_" protested Saltash. "So a wife is different! How--different, _mignonne_?" He tried to look into the downcast eyes, but she would not raise them. She was trembling a little. "Such things as these," she said, under her breath, "are what a man would give to--to--to the woman he loves." "And so you think they are unsuitable for--my wife?" questioned Saltash, with a whimsical look on his dark face. She did not answer him, only mutely held out the case, still without looking at him.