"How much do you want, then?" Shreve asked coolly.

"Nothing. Not from you. I haven't had a chance to inspect all the merchandise yet, but that's what it is to me-merchandise. It was an honest business transaction-"

"Business," Shreve murmured. "I suppose it is good business to take advantage of a senile old woman."

Karen was so angry she felt lightheaded. The sensation was rather agreeable. "It's called free enterprise, Shreve. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it. Your husband is such an enthusiastic supporter of the system…"

Shreve blinked rapidly, as if someone had aimed a blow at her face. It was a low blow, Karen thought, as her anger gave way to self-contempt. Congress had finally confirmed Mr. Givens' appointment, but not until after a long and acrimonious debate over certain "questionable business practices."

"Is there anything of yours in the boxes?" Karen asked.

"Good Lord, no." This suggestion seemed to outrage Shreve even more than Karen's refusal to sell. "What gave you that idea?"

"I only meant that if your grandmother had sold something that wasn't hers, I would of course return it."

"I see." Shreve bit her lip. "I think I will have a drink after all. Do you have Stolichnaya vodka?"

"I don't know."

"Vodka and tonic, with just a squeeze of lime. If you don't have Stolichnaya I'd prefer plain Perrier and lime."

"I'll see," Karen said. "Excuse me."

By the time she had ascertained that Pat preferred another, cheaper brand of vodka, and had unearthed a lone bottle of Perrier from the back of the liquor cabinet, she was-she fondly hoped-in control of her temper. There wasn't a lime in the house, nor did she bother looking for one.

She had not asked Shreve to sit down, but she found her in the parlor, poised on the edge of the sofa and looking about her with cool interest. "Ruth really ought to replace those draperies," she remarked. "They are quite faded. Maybe it's just as well she didn't; by the time the dog gets through with them she'll need new ones."

Karen handed her the glass and a coaster. She was determined to behave like a lady if it killed her, but she wanted to get Shreve out of the house as soon as she could.

The very sight of her, poised and slim and elegant, was like a shoe rubbing a blister.

"Was it your grandmother's wedding veil you wanted?" she asked.

"Wedding veil?" Shreve looked blank. "I don't give a damn about Gran's junk. I just don't like the idea of its being displayed in some cheap shop window, where people can see it and say that Gran was so poor she had to sell her clothes-that her family wasn't taking proper care of her."

The secret was out. All Shreve cared about was what people would say. Karen found it more believable than sentiment, a quality Shreve obviously lacked. It did not make her feel any more kindly toward Shreve.

"No one would recognize your grandmother's things. And anyway, if Mrs. MacDougal isn't embarrassed at having her clothes in a shop window, it shouldn't bother you. Hers are very distinctive and very valuable, and she told me I could-"

"I'll give you a hundred and fifty."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I hope to make a good deal more than that."

Shreve's eyes narrowed unpleasantly. "How much more?"

"I'm afraid you are missing the point," Karen said. "I am in business to make as much money as I can. The value of the merchandise I sell depends on a number of different factors, primarily on what people are willing to pay." Shreve continued to stare at her, lips pressed tightly together, and some imp of perversity made Karen add, "When they are ready for sale, cleaned and pressed and mended, I'll let you know. If you care to pay the price, they're all yours."

"I see," Shreve said slowly. "I'm to be allowed to bid-is that it?"

"No bidding, no haggling. I set the price; you pay it or someone else will. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment and I've barely time to change."

SHE really was late, but instead of dashing upstairs to dress she did a clog dance down the length of the hall, to the consternation of Alexander, whom she freed from bondage as she passed the kitchen door.

"I'm sorry," Karen said breathlessly. "That was a dance of triumph, Alexander. You wouldn't understand, and anyway I haven't time to explain it to you."

Talking to the dog was only one step better than talking to herself, but she had to crow to someone. A month ago she would not have been able to handle Shreve as ably as she had. She would have meekly accepted the check and handed over the merchandise, as Shreve had expected she would. Shreve wasn't accustomed to having people bite her back, especially someone she remembered as quiet and yielding. It would have been a fatal mistake to give in, for it would have set a precedent, for herself if not for her customers. She might end up doing something as asinine as letting Mrs. Grossmuller buy her wedding dress back for two bits.

What was more, she had not lost her temper, though the provocation had been extreme. As she came downstairs, neatly if hastily attired, she remembered Shreve's insolence, and the anger she had suppressed boiled up stronger than before. How Mark could fall for such a vulgar, arrogant woman… But it wasn't Shreve's personality that interested Mark. He was kind and charitable to old friends and former enemies, but he liked his women slim and sexy and influential.

Stop it, Karen told herself. She concentrated intently on locking the door. The new keys were a trifle stiff, but they would probably loosen up in time.

It was lucky for Karen that she approached her interview with the lawyer in such high spirits, for he did everything possible to depress her. He looked exactly like the picture she had formed of him in her mind-a little man, short and spare, with a narrow, closed-in face. His eyes were obscured by thick glasses and his thinning hair had been carefully brushed across his bald spot. He held a chair for her, but she had barely seated herself before he made his chief concern evident.

"The jewelry, Mrs. Nevitt. May I-"

"I didn't bring it." Karen settled herself more comfortably.

"You didn't… May I ask why not?"

His tone was only too reminiscent of the one Jack used to demoralize and intimidate her. This time Karen refused to yield. She was getting tired of being pushed around; instead of explaining and apologizing, she went on the attack.

"What are you worried about, Mr. Bates? The jewelry or me?"

"Why-I-"

"Because if it's the jewelry, that's no longer your responsibility. It belongs to me, and I intend to wear it and enjoy it as Mrs. Mac meant me to, not lock it up in a bank. And if you are afraid I might be in danger from someone who wants it-"

"Nonsense," said Mr. Bates shortly.

"Okay, it's nonsense. So why the fuss? Anyway, there is no point in my getting rid of a potential danger unless the presumed thief knows I've gotten rid of it. I should have come here carrying a sign? 'Attention, everybody: Dolley's jewelry is being handed over to Mr. Bates'?"

"Really, Mrs. Nevitt-"

"If anyone is watching me, my visit to you this evening will suggest to them that I've handed the jewelry over. What further precautions could I take, short of putting an advertisement in the newspaper? Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to discuss something more important."

Mr. Bates sighed, adjusted his glasses, brushed his hair back from his high forehead, and gave her his full attention.

He took a dim view of her plans. A young woman with no business experience had, in his opinion, little hope of success. But Karen was moved almost to tears when he grudgingly informed her that her uncle by marriage had cabled to put a large sum of money at her disposal, to be drawn upon at need.

"You have heard from Pat, then," she murmured, reaching for a tissue and pretending she was blotting away perspiration. "That was one of the things I wanted to ask you."