"Yes, he wanted to finish the bust. It is said to be a success. He ought to become a famous sculptor some day." "No question as to his having the gift. The doubt is, whether he has health to use it." "Midfell suited him. He was well all the time." "Because he was happy." Giles' glance added, "Because with 'you!'" Phyllys kept silence, and in suppressed tones the other continued— "He may have a career before him. He ought to have. But much depends on whether he marries the right wife. Sympathy in his work would mean to him—everything." Did Giles wish her to marry Colin? Phyllys held herself in, and spoke with indifference. "Do you think Colin likely to marry? I don't. Sculpture will always be first with him; and a wife shouldn't come second." "Ah, you know only one side of him yet." "I've seen pretty much!" she murmured. But Giles paid no attention. He had made up his mind that something had to be said, and he went on in the same monotonous undertone— "If he should wish to marry, there would be no difficulty as to means. He and Mrs. Keith talk as if he were a poor man, dependent on Art. It is not so, really. What belongs to me belongs to him. What is mine is his. I had a feeling that I should like to say this to you." She made no remark, and he went on patiently, trying to explain— "It is not merely that we were brought up together—that we have been brothers. It is more. Years ago I made up my mind that, whatever he should wish, if it were in my power to give, he should have it—even though it might cost me—might cost me—" The hesitation, the suppressed suffering, told more than he knew, let slip what he meant to hide. She kept her face turned away, and said gently— "Yes, I see. I think it is quite beautiful of you." "Not beautiful at all. You mistake my meaning. It is a matter of simple duty." "For you—perhaps," she murmured. "But Colin would be wrong to let you." "If you knew everything, you would not say so. I owe him all—more than I can ever pay." They were nearing the house, and only a few seconds remained. Phyllys' heart beat fast; for now she saw, now she knew, that Giles loved her. But with the knowledge came a woman-like instinct to hold back, a rush of shy reserve. She would not too quickly betray herself. She wanted him to know that he was mistaken—that Colin never could, never would, be anything to her. But how could she say it? He saw only a lowered hat-brim. "It's breakfast-time," she murmured, as they reached the door. The hat-brim was slightly lifted, and he caught one tiny flash of blue from between curling lashes. It meant—what did it mean? Giles stood motionless, white as chalk. A rush of new hope almost unmanned him. "Phyllys—" his voice broke as on the day he had rescued her from the bog, and when he tried to say more, he could not. She forgot herself, and looked wonderingly up, full at him. Then he too saw, he too knew—and the strong man visibly shook.