"Delighted to hear it," Giles said cordially. "What do you think of the old schoolroom for your studio? It is out of the way, and has no room over. You will want skylight windows, I fancy, and a tap of water, and a modelling-stool, and instruments. There's a small inner room, which will be useful. We will have it put in order at once. You must be properly equipped at the outset." "Giles, you 'are' a good fellow!" murmured Colin. CHAPTER II MIDNIGHT MOVEMENTS "HOW do you do?" a precise voice said. It was not needful to announce Mr. Thomas Dugdale. He was as much at home in the house as its proper inmates. If a door were open, he walked in; if not, the butler opened it, but did not venture to treat him like a caller. The greeting was meant for Colin. He never said, "How do you do?" to the others, since they met too often. He was elderly, composed, critical, daintily neat every inch of him, from the smooth well-cut hair and the shaven face to the immaculate shoes, which never, on the muddiest day, became soiled. Extreme exactitude, inside and out, was his main characteristic. He lived alone in a small house on the estate, built by a former owner for his mother-in-law. Mr. Dugdale might have found a home with his widowed daughter, on a neighbouring property, but he preferred "freedom." Dinner over, Colin usurped most of the talk, till Mr. Dugdale appeared. Mrs. Keith looked often from one to the other of "her boys," as she called them, trying to impress upon both that neither was more to her than the other. They, man-like, would have taken the fact for granted. She could not let it alone. If she said "Dear Colin," she dragged in a "Dear Giles" within two minutes. If she laid an affectionate hand on Giles' shoulder, she gave a like caress to Colin. The balancing of affection became irksome, and Mr. Dugdale's entrance made a not unwelcome diversion. "Tired of travelling?" he suggested. "Three years—enough for the most voracious appetite. What is to be the next step?" "Settle down at home," Giles replied for him. "Well—for a while. Give folks time to turn round." He took off the far-sighted glasses with which he had surveyed Colin, put them away, and with dainty finger-tips adjusted his near-sighted pince-nez, pulling forth a letter. "Something to interest you here. A response to my letter. Signs of yielding, too. It takes the old lady six weeks to evolve an answer." Mrs. Keith saw the writing. "Mrs. Wyverne!" she exclaimed. Colin showed interest. "How about Phyllys?" he asked. "Something was said lately about getting her to visit us." "Mrs. Wyverne ought to consent. Giles will be in that neighbourhood, and he means to try persuasion—not asking leave beforehand." "Going to storm the fortress?" suggested Colin, with one of his noiseless laughs. "Mind you don't capture by mistake the ogress!" "Not likely! Barbara must be a person to whom distance lends enchantment," remarked Giles.