"I've been there off and on," said Andy.
"You! Have you ever seen—not that I suppose you'd notice it—a woman keeping two men from one another's throats, trying to make them think there's nothing to quarrel about, trying to say things that one could take in one way, and the other in the other—and third persons not take in any way at all? Oh, it's a pretty game, and I'm bound to say she plays it finely. But she's on thin ice, that woman, and she knows it. Vivien's father!"
"Why do you go on repeating 'Vivien's father'?"
"I won't." She leant forward and laid her small hand on his arm. "Isobel Vintry's lover, then! The man's in love with her, Andy, as sure as we sit here. In love—and furious!"
"I'd never thought of that. Do you feel sure of it?"
"You have thought of the other thing—and you're sure of that?"
"You know Harry. I hoped it would all—all come to nothing. How much do you think Wellgood knows, or suspects?"
"Hard to say. I think he's groping in the dark. He's had a check, I expect, or a set-back. Men always think that's due to another man—I suppose it generally is. Well, it's not you, and it's not Billy. Who else sees her—who else goes to Nutley?"
"But he'd never suspect his own daughter's—"
"You do!"