He dropped wearily into an armchair, and Phyllys held out a slip of paper. "Mr. Hazel has telegraphed for me to go home," she said. Her letter had followed the old Vicar to London and back to Midfell, whence the delay. Colin read and returned it. "No hurry," he remarked. "About Giles' plans—no, don't go, Phyllys." "You heard what I was saying. I will not be a burden on you. You have to take your position: so have I." Giles spoke in resolute tones. "Our paths will lie in different directions." A pause. "My mother and I will leave Castle Hill." Another pause. "I shall look-out for an Agency of some sort." He had to raise his eyes, had to meet a quiet gaze, before which his determination threatened to become like wax in sunshine. "What do 'you' wish?" he asked. Colin was pressing a hand over his rumpled hair. "Not that!" he said. "I must have your help." "Of course, if you need me—" "There must be a break. We will go different ways for a couple of months—then come together our true selves. Go to Midfell with Phyllys, and make the most of your time there." "Say 'Yes,'" she whispered. But he hesitated. "I can't do without you, Giles—that is simple fact. You are good at business, and I am not. I must and will have leisure for modelling. As for accounts—twenty minutes of them make my head frantic. You shall be my coadjutor—referee—adviser—anything you like. One moment—" as the other was breaking into speech. "You called yourself penniless. I am writing to my lawyers to settle upon you and your heirs the sum of one thousand pounds a year. The letter would be off, if I could have written another page. All I ask is—stay and help me. I will make the position as little trying as maybe." Giles' strong features worked. "No," he said. "It is like you; but that won't do. I will stay as long as you need me—as your agent. You shall pay me a fair sum for the work I do; not a penny more. The letter must go into the fire. My mind is made up." "So is mine!" murmured Colin. He smiled, perhaps recognising that he, in Giles' place, would have followed a like course. "Well—for the present. Come in—" and Reeves appeared. "Not interrupting, I hope," he said in Giles' voice. "No—" and Colin went on with what he was saying. "For the present I give in. It will make no difference in the end. All that I have is yours—and, as you have more than once remarked, 'pride between you and me is a thing impossible.'" The tired eyes laughed. "Your mother will continue to receive her allowance." "Certainly not. She will depend upon me." "I beg your pardon," interposed Reeves. "My sister will keep house for 'me.' That was my object in coming home, and she agrees. You may put her out of your calculations." "Not a bad plan!" mused Colin. "Then the 'allowance' shall accumulate at compound interest for her son and his heirs." He looked at Giles. "And when you can persuade Phyllys to come and be the perpetual sunshine of Castle Hill—" She flushed up.