"So at best he can only be called my step-cousin. But when my mother was taken, Mrs. Keith had entire charge of me; and on the death of my father that arrangement became permanent. Colin and I have been brothers from babyhood." "I understand now. It always puzzled me. And was he not ill for a long time? Somebody said he had an accident when he was a boy, and didn't get over it for years." "Yes." A stern set came to Giles' face, darkening it as a landscape is darkened by a cloud passing over the sun. Phyllys was perplexed. "Barbara is as much your cousin as I am," she remarked, saying the first thing that came into her head. "I suppose you would have asked her first to visit Castle Hill!"—"Heaven forbid!" was on Giles' lips—"But she never goes anywhere, so I come next." "I think you come first," he said drily, and she laughed. "If only I had the least hope of going!" "I don't think it will be long before we meet again." His manner said that he intended it should not be. "Till then, I hope you will remember that you offered me your friendship." Her colour went up. "But that was silly. We were strangers. I spoke without thinking." "It would disappoint me if you took your words back." "It was too soon. I am always saying things in a hurry, and then wishing I had not." She twisted a grass-blade round her fingers. "Does one ever quite get over doing that?" He ignored the question. "Don't you think we know one another well enough now?" "Of course I've rather wanted a friend—sometimes," she admitted. "The only one I had went away. There are Mr. and Mrs. Hazel, but Barbara tries to keep me from them. And they are much older. But people ought to wait till they are sure." "You do not feel sure yet?" The steady purposefulness of his gaze held her spellbound. It was not that he saw deeply, but that he stirred deep feeling in her. For a moment he had a curious sense that he might do what he willed with Phyllys. It did not last. She dropped her eyes, and the spell was broken. He did not really as yet will anything further. Their mutual knowledge each of the other was small; and he only felt that he wished to know her better. Besides, he was a man of punctilious honour, and she had been confided to his care. So they reverted to surface topics, and no more was said about friendship. The word to Giles meant little. If he wanted anything, he wanted more; but it served as a stepping-stone to intimacy. To Phyllys it meant, for the moment, a good deal—more than would have been guessed from her next careless remark—"I was afraid this morning it was going to be a wet day. That would have been provoking." "There was an early shower, I believe." "Just the Pride o' the Morning." He looked an inquiry. "It's a saying about here. When a little early shower comes, not meaning a wet day, they say, 'Oh, it's just the Pride o' the Morning.' Mr. Hazel sometimes calls 'me' that!"—smiling.