No one else had much to do with him.

Larpent ignored him, and Murray the steward regarded him with a deep suspicion that did not make for intimacy.
And Toby was happy.

Day after day his cheery whistle arose over his work while he polished Saltash's boots and brushed his clothes, or swept and dusted the state-cabin in which he slept.

He himself had returned to his own small den that led out of Saltash's dressing-room, but the intervening doors were kept open by Saltash's command.

They were always within hail of each other.
They went into perfect summer weather, and for a blissful week they voyaged through blue seas with a cloudless sky overhead.