Harry was no novice; the break in the voice did not escape him. He marked it with a thrill of triumph; it told him that she was not merely playing with him; he was holding his own, he had his power. The fight was equal. He rose to his feet and stood facing her, both of them by the mantelpiece. "I don't want you to say anything about this to Vivien, because it's not definite yet. If the opportunity were offered to me, don't you think I should be wise to accept?" "Are you in love with him?" He looked in her eyes. "No, you can't be!" "Your standard of romance is so high. I like him--and perhaps I don't like looking out for another situation." Her tone was lighter; she seemed mistress of herself again. But Harry had not forgotten the break in her voice. "Have you considered that this arrangement--" "Which we have supposed--" "Would make you my mother-in-law?" "Well, your stepmother-in-law. That doesn't sound quite so oppressive, I hope?" "They both sound to me considerably absurd." "I really can't see why they should." Their eyes met in confidence, mirthful and defiant. They fought their duel now, forgetful of everybody except themselves. His old spirit had seized on Harry; it carried him away. She gave herself up to the delight of her triumph and to the pleasure that his challenge gave her. Out of sight, out of mind, were Vivien and Andy. "But relationship has its consolations, its privileges," said Harry, leaning towards her, his face alight with mischievous merriment. He offered her his hand. "At all events, accept my congratulations." She gave him her hand. "You're premature, both with congratulations and with relationship." "Oh, I'm always in a hurry about things," laughed Harry, holding her hand. He leant closer yet; his face was very near hers now--his comely face with its laughing luring eyes. She did not retreat. Harry saw in her eyes, in her flushed cheeks and quickened breath, in her motionlessness, the permission that he sought. Bending, he kissed her cheek. She gave a little laugh, triumphant, yet deprecatory and nervous. Her face was all aflame. Harry's gaze was on her; slowly he released her hand. She stood an instant longer, then, with a shrug of her shoulders, walked across the room towards the windows. Harry stood watching her, exultant and merry still. Suddenly she came to a stand. She spoke without looking round. "Vivien's shawl was on that chair." The words hardly reached his preoccupied brain. "What? Whose shawl?" She turned round slowly. "Vivien's shawl was on that chair, and it's gone," she said. Harry darted past her to the window, and looked out. He came back to her on tiptoe and whispered, "Andy! He's about two-thirds of the way across the terrace with the thing now." "He must have come in just a moment ago," she whispered in return.