Phyllys demurred, for she had hitherto devoted the better part of her mornings to the studio. It would not do, however, to be at the beck and call of Colin. Her proud spirit rose in protest, all the more because she had felt his power. "I should like a walk," she said demurely; and Giles' face, growing rigid under her hesitation, lighted anew. She could not but see the change. "Then I may reckon on you," he said, and his look was eloquent. Friends still! That was what it uttered. She gave one slight flash, and ran off. With regard to him, as with regard to Colin, questioning arose. Was it with the one only artist-interest? Was it with the other only friendship? Phyllys made no attempt to find a reply. She knew that it was delightful, after years of snubbing, to find herself the object of so much attention. Reaching Mrs. Keith's bedroom, her recollections were confused. A black oak cabinet, unlocked—so much remained. Turning to the left, she pulled the door of the cabinet on that side, and it opened. Within she saw no crimson silk. A pile of shawls and cloaks had been heaped together in the space below; and she disturbed the pile, pulling it out, searching for the silk. So doing, she came on something behind; a half-length portrait in a black frame. A pair of blue eyes, dreamy, observant, met her own. "How like!" she exclaimed. The style of dress belonged to a bygone period, and the face as a whole was hardly that of Colin. It was a resemblance less of form and colour than of the spirit which gleamed through. "Some near relation," she conjectured. "But why keep it hidden here?" Convinced that the silk was not within the cabinet, she restored the portrait, piled the clothes as before, and tried to shut the door. Then she saw that it had been locked, and that the hasp had failed to catch. No key was visible. She recollected Mrs. Keith's words, "On the 'right' side as you go in." This cabinet stood on the left. She went to the second cabinet, found that to be genuinely unlocked, and saw the crimson silk. She caught it up and ran downstairs. "I'm sorry to have been so long," she said. "I opened the wrong cabinet by mistake. Somebody had locked it in a hurry, and had not shut it first. I forgot all about right and left, and wasted time hunting. I could not help noticing the oil-painting under the things. It has such a look of Colin. A young man, in a queer old-fashioned dress. I wondered whether it might be Colin's grandfather, and whether he was dressed for theatricals." She stopped; for Mrs. Keith's face had grown colourless. "Are you faint?" she asked. "May I get anything for you?"