But the centre of the scene for him was Vivien Wellgood. From his first sight of her in the drawing-room he could not deny that. He had never seen her in the evening before, and it was in the evening that her frail beauty showed forth. She was like a thing of gossamer that a touch would spoil. She was so white in her low-cut frock; all so white save for a little glow on the cheeks that excitement and pleasure brought, save for the brightness of her hair in the soft candle light, save for the dark blue eyes which seemed to keep watch and ward over her hidden thoughts. Yes, she was--why, she was good enough for Harry--good enough for Harry Belfield himself! And he, Andy, Harry's faithful follower and worshipper, would worship her too, if she would let him (Harry, he knew, would), if she would not be afraid of him, not dislike him or shrink from him. That was all he asked, having in his mind not only a bashful consciousness of his rude strength and massive frame--they seemed almost threatening beside her delicacy--but also a haunting recollection that she could not endure such a number of things, including butchers' shops. No thought for himself, no thought of trying to rival Harry, so much as crossed his mind. If it had, it would have been banished as rank treachery; but it could not, for the simple reason that his attitude towards Harry made such an idea utterly foreign to his thoughts. He was not asking, as Isobel Vintry had asked that afternoon, why he might not have his chance. It was not the way of his nature to put forward claims for himself--and, above all, claims that conflicted with Harry's claims. The bare notion was to him impossible. He sat by her, but for some time she gave herself wholly to listening to Harry, who had found, on getting home, a letter from Billy Foot, full of the latest political gossip from town. But presently, the conversation drifting into depths of politics where she could not follow, she turned to Andy and said, "I'm getting on much better with Curly. I pat him now!" "That's right. It's only his fun." "People's fun is sometimes the worst thing about them." "Well now, that's true," Andy acknowledged, rather surprised to hear the remark from her. "But I am getting on much better. And--well, rather better at riding." She smiled at him in confidence. "And nobody's said anything about swimming. Do you know, when I feel myself inclined to get frightened, I think about you!" "Do you find it helps?" asked Andy, much amused and rather pleased. "Yes, it's like thinking of a policeman in the middle of the night." "I suppose I do look rather like a policeman," said Andy reflectively. "Yes, you do! That's it, I think." The vague "it" seemed to signify the explanation of the confidence Andy inspired. "And how about dust and dirt, and getting very hot?" he inquired. "Isobel says I'm a bit better about courage, but not the least about fastidiousness." "Fastidiousness suits some people, Miss Wellgood."