"No. We've got all the excitement."

"And the risk, sir."

"And, of course, the risk." He liked him.

She could talk to Robin Lethbridge as she couldn't talk to Connie
Hancock's young men. She wasn't afraid of what he was thinking. She was
safe with him, he belonged to Priscilla Heaven. He liked her because he
loved Priscilla; but he wanted her to like him, not because of Priscilla,
but for himself.

She talked about Priscilla: "I never saw anybody so loving. It used to
frighten me; because you can hurt her so easily."

"Yes. Poor little Prissie, she's very vulnerable," he said.

When Priscilla came to stay it was almost painful. Her eyes clung to him,
and wouldn't let him go. If he left the room she was restless, unhappy
till he came back. She went out for long walks with him and returned
silent, with a tired, beaten look. She would lie on the sofa, and he would
hang over her, gazing at her with strained, unhappy eyes.

After she had gone he kept on coming more than ever, and he stayed
overnight. Harriett had to walk with him now. He wanted to talk, to talk
about himself, endlessly.

When she looked in the glass she saw a face she didn't know: bright-eyed,
flushed, pretty. The little arrogant lift had gone. As if it had been