Colin stood back, his attention diverted from his own work to Phyllys. A longing seized him to make a sketch in clay of that pretty girl-head. His fingers ached to reproduce the soft flow of hair, the delicate moulding of brow and lips. She had the precise pose which he would want; and he hardly dared to breathe for fear of making her move. He was trying to learn every curve by heart, that he might be able to replace her. When, in response to observation, she turned, she caught a gleam of that gaze from under the penthouse of slender fingers. He at once explained. "I am wondering whether you would let me make a study of your head." "Mine But why? Yes, if you like. That would be rather fun." "You promise?" "I should like it if—Will Mrs. Keith mind?" "I want an unconditional promise." Phyllys looked troubled. "She has always opposed my modelling. I think you will admit that a man must choose for himself?" "Then it is not a new idea?" "Nearly as old as I am myself." Phyllys wondered, recalling contrary assertions. "I promise," she at length said. "But why should Mrs. Keith care?" "Can't imagine. Neither can Giles." He was replacing the wet cloths, and she said, "You won't try to work at that to-day? You know you can't." He finished what he was doing, then replied, "But when Giles comes home you must please see less. I don't betray myself to him, if I can help it." "Why should he not know?" "It bothers him. My stupid headaches are a hindrance to work, and he knows how much I want to get on. So please don't draw his attention. That is all. And—" after a pause—"don't name to him this bust." "I won't, if you would rather I should not." "I would rather you should not. Now, shall we go?" In the hall they were joined by Mrs. Keith, who showed some annoyance on hearing where Phyllys had been. "I have hunted for you all over the house," she complained. "Phyllys is going to let me make a model of her head." Mrs. Keith's movement was of protest. "You won't do anything so ridiculous!" "I can hardly imagine anything less ridiculous." "Phyllys has come here to enjoy herself." "But indeed I shall enjoy that," urged Phyllys. "I love anything to do with modelling." Mrs. Keith's face darkened. "I would rather it should be given up," she said. Colin made no verbal reply. The gaze of mother and son met, and Phyllys was conscious of a trial of strength between the two. Mrs. Keith's restless dark orbs stared into the quiet blue eyes, which, with all their courtesy, spoke absolute non-submission. Silence lasted hardly three seconds, but in that space he rose superior. Phyllys was startled by his look of invincible resolution. Had it been Giles she would have felt no surprise. But Colin—the embodiment rather of charm than of strength—that in him should be found, underlying the charm, a force of will which, though endlessly gentle, would have at all costs its own way, she had not expected.