"No; now it has been seen, it must not stay there." Her eyes wandered round questfully, and she went to a large cupboard, within which was a heavy wooden box. This with difficulty she drew out. It contained several summer gowns of thin materials, too old-fashioned for use. She had a weakness for storing away disused articles of dress. In the bottom she laid the portrait, face downward, finding just sufficient space. Over it she spread a woollen shawl; over that the gowns neatly folded; then she shut the lid, turned the key, and pushed the box to its former position. Somebody was tapping at the door. She straightened herself, hid away the box-key in an inner drawer of her writing-table, locked the left-hand cabinet, and resumed her languid air before admitting Phyllys. "Can't I help you?" asked the girl, with astonished eyes. "I came to see if you wanted anything—and I heard you pulling something heavy about." "I had to look for a business letter. Nothing of importance; but it was rather out of reach. Thanks, no; I do not want anything. I am much better—quite myself again." Phyllys was perplexed, remembering the energetic sounds which had drowned her raps. CHAPTER XVI LEVEL PLAINS KATHLEEN ALYN, though not given to fancies, had taken a fancy to Phyllys. She had a large circle of acquaintances, but did not make friends. Not that hers was a cold nature. On the contrary, she was famed for universal cordiality. Any human being who came was secure of a welcome. "Dear Mrs. Alyn is so sweetly affectionate," her lady admirers declared. "Kathleen is always interested," her father often said. She would appear to each in turn, as if that person were the one being in the world for whom she cared; no whit the less one hour with Mrs. Brown, than the next with Mrs. Green. "Such a 'dear' woman!" would be said by the departing caller. Some, of more critical tendency, noting the universality of her friendliness, questioned its worth, since that which is given to all loses its value for the few. Yet even they could not but admire the self-mastery which showed equal warmth to the acquaintance of to-day and the friend of years. Only—as above said—she did not make friends. That discovery came next; and a step farther would convince the observer that Mrs. Alyn had no heart. Had she not? Kathleen could be as "elusive" to the world as Phyllys to the sculptor. "My daughter is one of the most fascinating women that ever trod this earth," Mr. Dugdale had been known to observe. "None the less, she is a humbug. A delightful humbug, I grant. She has cultivated the giving of sympathy, till she has reduced it to a fine art; and that which is Art ceases to be Nature. She has developed into a patent machine, warranted to produce so many gallons of sympathy per hour. Nothing can be more satisfactory—for those who are content with sympathy by the gallon!"