He was always completely at his
ease in Jake's household, but it was not his way to touch at any time in
Maud's presence upon any matter that could not be openly discussed before
her. Their intimacy was not without its reservations.
Maud in her quiet happiness detected no hint of restraint in his manner.
But he had always been elusive, often subtle. She did not look for
candour from Charles Rex--unless she asked for it.
Watching him on that spring evening in the soft glow of the candles,
marking the restless play of feature, the agile readiness of his wit, she
asked herself, not for the first time, what manner of soul he had behind
the mask. Somehow she did not wholly believe in that entity which so
often looked jibing forth. Though she could ascribe no reason for it, she
had a strong suspicion that the real self that was Saltash was of a
different fibre altogether--a thing that had often suffered violence it
might be, but nevertheless possessed of that gift of the resurrection
which no violence can destroy.
"Why are you dissecting me tonight?" he asked her once and laughed and
changed the subject before she could reply.
When dinner was over and she rose, he sprang to open the door for her
with that royal _bonhomie_ of his which somehow gave him the right to
enter where others waited for permission.
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