“She’ll never look at me,” muttered Bunny, gripping the hand that pressed his shoulder without raising his eyes.

“Ho, won’t she?” said Jake.  “I’ve seen her look at you more than once—­and the old General too.  Reckon they both thought you were throwing yourself away on Toby, and maybe they had some reason to think so.  Anyway, she never was your sort.  I seem to remember telling you so once.”

“I was a fool,” said Bunny, and then in a moment straightened himself and looked Jake in the eyes.  “It wasn’t Toby’s fault,” he said with abrupt generosity.  “She didn’t want to get engaged to me.  I made her.  I knew—­all along—­she wasn’t very keen.  But I thought I loved her enough to make it all right.  I was wrong.  I didn’t.”

“Beginning to know better?” suggested Jake, with a smile.

“Beginning to realize what a fool I’ve been,” said Bunny ruefully.  “You don’t think I’ve done for myself then?  Think I’ve still got a chance?”

“Sure thing!” said Jake.  “But go carefully.  You’ve got a fence or two to clear before you get home.”  He paused a moment, then gave him a kindly hand-grip.  “Say, Bunny,” he said, “there’s nothing despicable about making a mistake.  It’s only when things go wrong and we don’t play the game that there’s anything to be ashamed of.  I’ve always been ready to stake my last dollar that you’d never do that.”

“Oh, man,” Bunny said, in swift embarrassment, “that shows how much you know about me!”

Jake stooped to knock out the ashes of his pipe in the fender.  “What I don’t know about you, my son,” he said, “ain’t worth a donkey’s bray, I reckon, so you can shut your mouth on that!  I’m going back to Maud now.  Any messages?”

“Yes.”  Bunny was standing up very straight; his eyes were shining.  “Love to Maud of course.  I shan’t come round at present.  But tell Toby that when I do, she needn’t be worried over anything.  We’re all square.  Tell her that!”

“I will,” said Jake.  He turned to the door, then paused, looking back.  “And say!” he said.  “Don’t you butt in with Saltash!  Just leave him to manage his own fate!  He’s riding a bucking horse, but I’ve a notion he’ll yet make good—­if he can.”

“He’s a rum devil,” said Bunny.  “All right.  I shan’t interfere.”

After Jake had gone, he sat down and pulled a letter from his pocket.  All the lines of perplexity smoothed out of his boyish face as he read it.  It was the letter of a woman who had written because she wanted to write, not because she had anything to say, and Bunny’s eyes were very tender as he came to the end.  He sat for a space gazing down at the signature, and at length with a gesture half-shamefaced he put it to his lips.

“Yes, I’ve been a fool, Sheila,” he said softly.  “But, thank heaven, I was pulled up in time.  And I shan’t—­ever—­make that mistake again.”

Which was perhaps exactly what the writer had meant him to say.