The three had this week to themselves--Andy engulfed in town and Gilbert Foot and Co., Wellgood not due back till the Saturday. So they passed it--Vivien in a new ecstasy; Harry ardent, troubled, wondering; Isobel apart, thoughtful, impossible to read. Thus they came to the Friday. To-morrow Wellgood would be back. Harry, thinking on this, thought suddenly of what had led up to the incident--what had been the excuse, the avenue, for his venture. It had been absorbed in the incident itself. Wellgood's coming gave it back to independent life. If what Isobel had said were true, another lover entered on the scene--Isobel's! That night--when Harry had gone--Vivien came to Isobel and kissed her, saying, "It's wonderful, but to-night I'm sure!" Isobel was looking at an illustrated paper. She let her hand rest in Vivien's, but she did not raise her eyes from the pictures. "Silly child, you've been sure all along!" "Not as I am to-night. I've been sure I pleased him, that he liked me, that he liked my love. I've never been sure that he really wanted it till the last two or three days." She paused a moment, and added softly, "Never sure he must have it, as much as I must have his!" Isobel's paper slipped from her knees on to the floor, but still she did not look at Vivien. "It's a wonderful feeling that," the girl went on; "to feel he must have it--that he must have my love as I must have his. Before he seemed to be doing all the giving--and I could hardly believe! Now I'm giving too--we're sharing. Somehow it makes a woman of me." She playfully caressed Isobel's hand, running fingers lightly over fingers. "I don't believe I'm afraid even of you any more!" Her tone was gay, affectionately bantering. Now Isobel looked up at her as she leant over her shoulder. "It makes you look very pretty." "It makes me feel prettier still," laughed Vivien. She put her face close to her friend's and whispered, blushing, "He kisses me differently now." Isobel Vintry sharply drew her hand away. Vivien's blush grew painfully bright. "Oh, I--I oughtn't to have said that. You're right, Isobel. It's--it's too sacred. But I was so happy in it. Do forgive me, dear. I've got no mother to talk to, Isobel. Not even a sister! I know what you felt, but you must forgive me." "There's nothing to forgive, child. I meant nothing when I took my hand away. I was going to pick up the paper." "Then kiss me, Isobel." Isobel slowly turned her head and kissed the girl's cheek. "I know what you mean, Vivien," she said with a smile that to the girl seemed wistful, almost bitter. "You dear!" she whispered. "Some day you must be very happy too." Her voice carolled in song as she sped upstairs.