"Yes," she said, "I know what you must feel, because you loved him. I loved him, and I feel it too. But we must neither of us think about it too much. Because it's no use. What Mr. Belfield told me makes it quite clear that it's no use." She spoke very sadly. They had not to do with an accident or an episode; they had to recognise and reckon with the nature of a man. "When once we see that it's no use, it seems to me that there's something--well, almost something unworthy in giving way to it." She turned round to Andy. "At least I don't want you to go on doing it. You've made your own success. Take it whole-heartedly, Andy; don't have any regrets, any searchings of heart." "There may be other things besides the seat at Meriton that I should like to take. When I search my heart, Vivien, I find you there." Through the darkness he saw her eyes steadily fixed on his. "I wonder, Andy, I wonder! Or is it only pity, only chivalry? Is it the policeman again?" "Why shouldn't it be the policeman?" he asked. "Is it nothing if you think you could feel safe with me?" "So much, so much!" she murmured. "Andy, I'm still angry when I remember--still sore--and angry again with myself for being sore. I oughtn't still to feel that." "You'd guessed my feelings, Vivien? You're not surprised or--or shocked?" "I think I've known everything that has been in your heart--both about him and about me. No, I'm not surprised or shocked. But--I wonder!" She laughed sadly. "How perverse our hearts are--poor Harry's, and poor mine! And how unlucky we two should have hit on one another! That for him it should be so easy, and for me so sadly difficult!" "I won't ask you my question to-night," said Andy. "No, don't to-night." She laid her hand on his arm. "But you won't go away altogether, will you, Andy? You won't be sensible and firm, and tell me that you can't be at my beck and call, and that you won't be kept dangling about, and that if I'm a silly girl who doesn't know her own luck I must take the consequences? You'll go on being the old Andy we all know, who never makes any claims, who puts up with everybody's whims, who always expects to come last?" Her voice trembled as she laughed. "You won't upset all my notions of you, because you've become a great man now, will you, Andy?" "I don't quite recognise myself in the picture," said Andy with a laugh. "I thought I generally stood up for myself pretty well. But, anyhow, I've no intention of going away. I shall be there when--I mean if--you want me." She gave him her hand; he gripped it warmly. "You're--you're not very disappointed, Andy? Oh, I hate to cloud your day of triumph to-morrow!" Her voice rose a little, a note almost of despair in it. "But I can't help it! The old thing isn't gone yet, and, till it is, I can do nothing."