"Antoinette!" Saltash's hand closed softly upon the pointed chin, softly
lifted it. "I think _Mignonette_ would suit you better," he said, in his
quick, caressing way. "It's time I chose a name for you, _ma chère_. I
shall call you that."

"Or just Nonette of Nowhere," breathed the red lips, piteously smiling.
"That would suit me--best of all."

"No--no!" said Saltash, and gently relinquished his hold. "Don't forget
that you are a favourite of the gods! That counts for something, my Toby.
They don't take up with everybody."

"They haven't done much for me so far," said Toby, suddenly rebellious.

"Hush!" said Saltash, with semi-comic warning. "You are too young to say
that."

"I am--older than you think, sir," said Toby, colouring painfully and
turning from his look.

"No, you're not!" Swiftly, with a certain arrogance, Saltash made answer.
"I know--how old you are, child. It is written in your eyes. They have
always told me--all I need to know." Then, very tenderly, as Toby's hands
covered them from his look: "_Mais, Mignonette_, they have never told me
anything that you could wish me not to know."

He slipped his arm again about the slender shoulders and pressed them
closely for a moment. Then he stood up and turned to go.