"So Mrs. Keith assured me—yesterday—or was it the day before? I'm wretched at dates. He may have changed his mind. Though why he should stay at Interlaken, and should address a letter to Mrs. Keith at a Thun hotel beats me!" Mr. Forsyth passed a puzzled hand across his forehead. "Beats me!" he repeated. Phyllys' colour was bright. "Beats me utterly!" he said a third time. Then—"Fine fellow, Randolph." "He and Colin are both nice." "Well, yes—Colin rather handicapped, poor chap. But Randolph—very fine fellow. Good landlord—good shot—makes himself liked." Phyllys had lost her tired look, and was eager to get home. They went to the boat-station, and caught the next steamer. "We'll have a little fun with her," suggested Mr. Forsyth, as they mounted the hill. Phyllys smiled, full of the thought that Giles was near—perhaps already on the way to join them. He would come that evening. No doubt he meant to take them by surprise. On arrival, her colour was commented on by Mrs. Keith. "Swiss air is doing you good," she said. "By-the-by, did you say Randolph was still at home," asked Mr. Forsyth—"not able to come out?" She glanced towards Phyllys. "I hope he may join us—but yesterday I heard he was too busy. I have another letter to-day, saying the same." She tapped the floor with her foot. "I don't mean to let him off." "What would you say—if he is already in Switzerland?" She looked in astonishment. "Giles in Switzerland! Certainly not." "But he must have come! He must have changed his mind,"—and Phyllys laughed with happiness. "He is at Interlaken." "Nonsense. Why are you trying to take me in?" with a suspicious glance. "We are not so unkind," Mr. Forsyth protested. "It is the oddest thing—we happened to go into an inn at Thun, and we found a letter for you, waiting. 'To be left till called for.'" She made a movement—and tried to smile. "I must have given the wrong address to some friend. How absurd!" "But Giles knows your address." A strong sense of Mrs. Keith's untruthfulness took possession of Phyllys. She could conjecture no reason for false statements, yet that something of falsity underlay the other's last utterance was evident. "I was not speaking of Giles—of course—" hurriedly. "And this letter is from Giles. It is his own handwriting; and it has the Interlaken postmark. Giles must be at Interlaken." Mrs. Keith received the envelope from Mr. Forsyth—turned it over—looked at the postmark—muttered something indistinct—then, to the amazement of all present, she fainted dead away. CHAPTER XXV GILES OR SOMEBODY "MY dear, it is absolutely unimportant. You make such a fuss. I have told you before that I have a weak heart; and I must expect attacks of this kind. The fact is, I ought to be more careful; and these steep hills try me. I shall get a quiet day to-morrow."