"And of course you have eaten nothing since luncheon. Just like him—" turning to Mr. Dugdale. "Colin never can do anything in moderation. This fad of his will undo the whole good of his time abroad. It is ridiculous." "Fad!" repeated Mr. Dugdale, with meaning. Colin fenced quietly, beating off the attack with a half languid but graceful good-humour, which Phyllys thought charming. Then attention was distracted, Mr. Dugdale falling into a discussion with Mrs. Keith on some trivial point of difference. Colin moved to a chair near Phyllys, and she had for the first time a distinct view. Unlike Giles, certainly. He looked very tired, and there were purple shades below the eyes, which had a fixed inwardness of expression. A hand was lifted between them and the nearer lamp. "So Giles stole a march upon us, making your acquaintance in the north." "If he had not, I should not be here now." Somehow she did not at once feel at home with Colin as with Giles. He awakened a shy side of her, seldom visible. Giles from the first had drawn her out. Colin unconsciously repressed her. It might have been his ease of bearing, his calm aloofness. Giles possessed a cultivated ease; but Colin's was an intrinsic ease, which perhaps nothing could disturb. In Giles it was an acquired possession; in Colin it seemed to be a part of himself. "Ah, then we must be grateful to him." "I think I am." She tried to speak naturally. "Pity he cannot get home yet." "Yes; I'm sorry." A pause, and Phyllys pulled herself together. The feeling of bashfulness was absurd. "Mrs. Keith says you are fond of modelling." A shade of interest dawned. "Do you know anything of it?" "My father used to model in clay." "Then you understand the grip it takes upon one." "Yes; I used to see that. He was a busy clergyman, and had very little spare time. But when he could get to it, he was happy. I was only ten years old when he died; still one doesn't forget." "Perhaps you will take a look at my studio to-morrow." "May I? That will be delightful. Are you doing statues?" "Busts chiefly. I may take to statuettes by-and-by. Portrait-sculpture seems to be my line." "My father did only small things. I used to stand and watch him, and the clay looked so tempting! I longed to try. They were afraid it might make me rheumatic." "No uncommon result. So far I have been lucky." "Have you worked hard to-day?" she asked, noting that he talked mechanically, like a machine wound up. "Rather." "Till after dinner?" "I gave in before that." "You look as if—" She hesitated, doubtful how far she might venture. The doubt had not assailed her with Giles, yet of the two, Colin was the more gentle. He responded to what she had not said. "One can't stick to work without paying for it; but the game is worth the candle." "I wonder if it is!" The heavy blue eyes, still with that curious oppressed "inward" look, met hers, but could not gaze. "You are a trifle too keen-sighted. Don't betray me, please."