"Giles had it restored as soon as he came of age," she said. "It was his first thought. Before that we had a three-decker, and hideous galleries, and pews one could hardly see over, and whitewash everywhere. He had the roof opened out as you see it now, and everything put right. His whole heart was in the work. No, there is very little old glass. The east window had been added early in the century, and it was too frightful for words. So Giles gave this and one other. Lovely, is it not?" They passed to the "one other" in the north aisle; a memorial window, exquisite in design, the central figure that of a child borne up on angels' wings. The child's face drew from Phyllys an exclamation. Mrs. Keith made a sound of inquiry, but Phyllys drew in. It might be that Colin would not wish his mother, any more than Giles, to know what he was doing. She went near, and read, "In Memory of E. W." "Dr. Wallace's child. She died when the boys were sixteen. An occasional playmate." Mrs. Keith spoke coldly. "And she was—how old?" "About thirteen. When the church was restored, Giles put this to her memory. Unnecessarily, I thought." "She must have been lovely. Was Giles fond of her?" "She was pretty. Both boys liked her. She died very suddenly." "And her father is your doctor?" "He is everybody's doctor. I do not care for him. I am afraid my dislikes are as pronounced as my likes." "So many years ago?" thought Phyllys. And an "occasional playmate" only! Both Giles and Colin must be very unforgetting. She decided that a friendship with the former might last a lifetime. CHAPTER XIV SCULPTOR AND SITTER FOR two hours daily did Colin lay claim upon Phyllys, and she granted what he asked, albeit not easily. Mrs. Keith had ceased from protestation, but many obstacles were put in the way, though in a fashion hardly to be defined. Phyllys found her first morning in the studio enchanting. Colin was at his best, ready for talk and quietly gay. She had begged to watch the process from the beginning; and she gazed with delight at his deft handling of the clay, as he filled in and covered over the light framework of lead piping, shaped roughly the shoulders over cross-pieces of wood designed for their support, and added lumps which with firm touches he formed into nose, chin, ears, giving each in turn a general resemblance to her own. It seemed that his task would be a bagatelle, he advanced so fast. When she said so, he broke into a laugh. "This is preparation, not work. If you had not asked to come, it would have been done before I troubled you." He went to and fro between the large and small room, bringing handfuls of the moist clay, remarking once, "A great sculptor would have a boy to keep him supplied." "You will be a great sculptor some day," she declared confidently.