"You may do anything that is right," he said with a tiny smile of relief, because she had offered him a route of escape. "Always. This is not right."

"You mean I may do what you believe to be right?" she challenged.

"You may," he agreed. "You do not have to. The choice is yours." And with that he went out into the office, leaving her in the middle of the floor, furious. It was not what he wanted at all, but it was a victory that mattered. There were any number of reasons why he must be master in his own home, for the happiness of both of them. When her temper cooled, she would appreciate that.

He sat in the room alone for over an hour, but she did not join him. At first he missed her, then he became irritated. She was childish. She could not expect to have her own way in everything.

But she always had! He remembered with considerable disquiet how she had governed her own life in the past, how willful she had been. Even the hospital authorities could not tolerate her—and did not. She was opinionated in everything, and not loath to express these opinions even at the least-opportune moments—and with a wit which made them even more offensive to some. He had laughed when he had not been on the receiving end. It was less funny when he was.

Not that his own tongue was not equally sharp and every bit as well informed. That was one of the reasons she could accept marriage to him, because he was more than her equal— well, occasionally.

But she must not be allowed to sulk. That was unacceptable. He stood up and went to find her. This could not continue.

She was sitting at the table writing. She looked up when he came in.

"Ah, good," she said with a smile. "You’ve come to tell me more about it. I thought you would. The kettle is on. Would you like a cup of tea? And there is cake as well."

He thought of the night to come, and lying beside her warm, slender body, either rigid and turned away from him or gentle and willing in his arms. More than that, deeper in his soul, he thought of all that they had shared that mattered above any petty battle of wills or convention of behavior. The issue could wait until another time. There would certainly be other battles, dozens of them, perhaps hundreds.

"Yes," he agreed, sitting down on the other chair. "Tea would be nice, thank you. And cake."

Obediently, with a little smile, she rose to make it.

4

IN THE MORNING, Monk left home to continue his search for Miriam Gardiner, only now there was the added difficulty that he must do so without at the same time leading Robb to her. He did not underestimate Robb’s intelligence. He had already had the chastening experience of being out-thought in conversation, and the memory still stung.