"I never speculate so far as you are concerned," said Larpent, shaking the tobacco back into his pouch with care. "You think it wouldn't matter, perhaps?" gibed Saltash. "My royal house is so inured to scandal that no one would expect anything else?" "I don't think she is the sort to run away," said Larpent quietly. "And I'm pretty sure of one thing. You could hold her if you tried." "An ideal arrangement!" sneered Saltash. "And I should then settle down to a godly, righteous, and sober life, I suppose? Is that the idea?" "You said it," observed Larpent, pushing his pipe into his mouth. Saltash lodged one foot on the high fender, and stared at it. The sneer died out of his face and the old look, half mischievous, half melancholy, took its pace. "I haven't--seriously--contemplated marriage for eight years," he said, his mouth twitching a little as with a smile suppressed. "Not since the day I tried to steal Maud Brian away from Jake--and failed--rather signally. I don't think I've ever done anything quite so low down since." Larpent lighted his pipe with grave attention. "A good thing for you both that you did fail!" he observed. "Think so?" Saltash glanced at him. "Why?" "She isn't the woman for you." Larpent spoke with the absolute conviction of one who knows. "She has too many ideals. Now this sprat you caught at Valrosa--has none." "Not so sure of that," said Saltash. "Well, no illusions anyway." There was a hint of compassion in Larpent's voice. "It wasn't because she trusted you that she put herself under your protection. She didn't trust you. She simply chucked herself at you with her eyes open. Like Jonah's whale, you were the only shelter within reach. I'd wager a substantial sum that she's never had any illusions about you. But if you held up your little finger she'd come to you. She's your property, and it isn't in her to do anything else, let her down as often as you will." Saltash made an excruciating grimace. "My good fellow, spare me! That's just where the shoe pinches. I've broken faith with her already. But--damnation!--what else could I do? I didn't choose the part of virtuous hero. It was thrust upon me. The gods are making sport of me. I am lost in a labyrinth of virtue, and horribly--most horribly--sick of it. I nearly broke through once, but the wreck pulled me up, and when I recovered from that, I was more hopelessly lost than before." "So you are not enjoying it either!" remarked Larpent, with the glimmer of a smile. "But you don't seem to have let her down very far." Saltash brought his foot down with a bang. "I swore I'd keep her with me. I meant--oh, God knows what I meant to do. I didn't do it anyway. I broke my oath and I made her go, and she never uttered a word of reproach--not one word! Do you think I'll let her ruin herself by marrying me after that? Like Jonah's whale I've managed to throw her up on to dry land, and if she gets swamped again, it won't be my fault."