The wonder in her eyes gave place to a tender concern. "You will not—misunderstand," he faltered. "I had thought—if it were for Colin's happiness—" She unconsciously shook her head. "'He' has never given me to understand—but if it were so—A fancy of mine, no doubt." Giles was trying to shield Colin, while yet making sure. "It might have been right to give him the first chance—to—leave home myself—" "Please 'don't!'" she whispered, and ran indoors. Giles did not follow. He had to meet joy as he had met pain—alone. CHAPTER XXIX THE LOST HEIRLOOM IN the gallery stood Phyllys, gazing at a vacant space once occupied by an ancestral portrait. She knew the spot, though during a former visit her attention had not been drawn to it. Colin, under pressure of modelling, had failed to take her round. Then had come her summons home, with the discovery that the picture had vanished. She hardly wondered that the loss had not been more quickly found out. The oak-panelled wall was so dark, the pictures around so resembled it in tint, the corner itself was so much in shade,—that the disappearance might easily go unnoticed. As she thus cogitated, a step made her turn. "Fine afternoon," remarked Mr. Dugdale. "Kathleen wants you for a drive. She will call at half-past three." He was cool, neat, precise as always, but in his face was a glimmer of something not often visible. He liked Phyllys as he liked few; partly for her own sake, partly for her father's. "Swiss trip cut short in a hurry," was his next remark. "How came that about?" "Mrs. Keith did not care to stay longer." "So I hear. Can't discover any reason." "I don't know why it was. She seemed upset—and one day she had a fainting-fit." "Real?"—with a glance. "Yes, quite real." "She's given to nervous attacks," as if in apology. Phyllys looked towards the corner. "That picture has never been found!" "No. Extraordinary!" and he knitted his brows. "But if the thief took it—" Mr. Dugdale raised his eyebrows. "Humbug!" "You don't think it was a thief?" He glanced round to see that they were alone, and lowered his voice. "That's all humbug. No more a thief than I am. I'd wager a hundred pounds it is Mrs. Keith's own doing. Don't repeat what I say. There 'd be no end of a rumpus." Phyllys was startled, despite her own suspicions. "But why? What could make her?" "Mrs. Keith has done many things for which reasons are hard to find. Odd woman—always was! Never could conceive what made Giles' father give him into her charge. Must have been demented." "'She' must?" inquiringly. He gave a short laugh. "I meant Giles' father. But she—well, you are not far out there." "She has been a good mother to Giles." "Taken care of his health. As for the lads' moral training, it's a marvel to me how they have turned out so well. Precept enough! But as for example!" "What was the picture like?" asked Phyllys. She had often wished for an opportunity to ask this.