"Anybody may be strong and rich," she thought. "But to have genius!—that is best of all—that is above everything." In her girlish judgment no doubt existed that Colin's power held the Divine spark which means so very much more than mere talent. Presently she woke to her own abstraction, and consequent silence. A side-glance revealed the gravity of her companion's look. Their eyes met, and he said— "You are thoughtful to-day." She would not let slip her thoughts. He and she were friends; but she had her reservations. Who has not, with the dearest of friends? Two days earlier she might have chatted frankly of Colin and his pursuit; but now she was not able. She could not forget the experience of the day before, and Giles' anger. The latter had made her afraid of a false step; and she was still more afraid of awakening in herself renewed sensations of consciousness. It was safer to keep to the surface. So she launched into light chatter about Castle Hill and Midfell; making little jests, laughing, and doing her best to make him laugh. For the moment she succeeded. Her winsome ways captivated him anew; and his very silence, the reluctance of his smile, his absorption in what she said, all drew her out, making it easy to pour out her thoughts. Yet she was keenly alive to the contrast between this morning and previous mornings. Being with Giles after being with Colin was like walking on a level plain after climbing a mountain peak. The simplicity, the whole-heartedness, were refreshing; but she found herself longing for the mountain-heights. The two men were different in mind as in body. With Colin she had a sense of inferiority; a consciousness of being pulled to a higher level. She was fascinated, and afraid; not sure how far she understood; eager to understand more; delighted when he responded; ready at any moment to fall flat, if he treated a remark with indifference. With Giles she had no especial sense of inferiority, unless in respect of muscles. She was aware of her power over him, aware that she could make him like her—perhaps as much as she willed. She knew she could touch his happiness: and she was dimly conscious now that something connected with herself made him unhappy. Once, Giles had had the feeling that he could do what he chose with Phyllys. That had been a momentary sensation, true, but fleeting. In the studio, on his entrance, he had known that "Colin" could do what he willed with Phyllys; and the mad pain and wrath which carried him away would have opened his eyes, had they not been opened already, to the nature of his love. To-day it was Phyllys who felt that she could do what she desired with Giles; that she could twist this powerful man, if she would, round her slim little finger.