She was alone when he was shown up, sitting, in the dusk, near the wood fire. He had longed all day for this moment, and came in quickly, with a sudden delight at finding her there by herself. Something in her manner checked him instantly. It was nothing upon which he could seize, and it was perfectly gentle, but he felt that, in some way or other, it recalled to him the change in their position, which in his eagerness he had seemed to forget. And it vexed him the more because the night before certain vague thoughts had almost taken the form of hope. She was sitting with her back to the fading light; he could not see the expression of her eyes, nor much more than a pale face, the outline of a slender figure, the hands clasped on her lap. Every now and then as she gave him the details of his aunt's illness, or repeated some tender message, her voice faltered, but she carefully avoided the least allusion to her own feelings, and he was certain that she intended him to feel that the barrier between them remained unmoved. A chill restraint crept over them both. Once, when his words took a somewhat warmer and more personal form as he thanked her for all she had done, she interrupted him, although still quite gently: "Do you know," she said, "that I have been very glad to have had this talk with you without the others being here? There are many things one can't talk of before friends, however kind they are. But they may come back at any moment now, and I have a great many things to say. So don't let us waste our time." Jack muttered something about the others. She did not seem to hear him, but went on hurriedly: "You ought to know how things are going on with the Masters. I'm afraid it is not very satisfactory. Has anyone told you that Mr Trent is still here?" "Still? Well, certainly I did think that circumstances would have ousted him by this time." She gave him a quick, inquiring glance. "I thought your letter would have been strong enough to do it. But-- please excuse me--did you speak plainly enough? I couldn't help having a feeling that you were making the best of his conduct, and--and it almost seems a pity," said Phillis, provoked at her own lame ending. She had thought she knew exactly what to say. "Didn't I speak out?" "Well, it is certain that man can twist everything to suit his purpose, even his own misdeeds." "Yes," assented Jack quietly. "He has a wonderful strength of plausibility." "And he has managed to persuade Bice--I don't know what he hasn't persuaded them all--that it was a mistake about the fifty pounds, and that though now he no longer doubts that Clive paid it, the man never repaid it to him. Somehow or other he has made her believe that he has acted straightforwardly, and has suffered for it. And, myself, I can't help fearing that there are some other complications, and that he has that foolish Mrs Masters in his power. But now that you are here, things will be put straight, I hope."