‘Tor always was made to rule—I used to tell him so: now perhaps he has found it out for himself, and has learned his own power.’ Phil was in a depressed frame of mind, restless and angry, yet still irresolute, from the feeling of helplessness which always came over him when he pictured himself standing up against Tor. ‘He can turn me round his little finger,’ said poor Phil dismally enough. ‘He can do anything he likes with me, and he knows it. I believe if he had me to deal with, and only me, he could almost persuade me that I was Torwood, and he Debenham. I know the old feeling would all come back, and I should be like a child in his hands. I must have some help. I must make allies somehow. I wonder what these Belassis people are like. After all, they are my next of kin.’ Phil gathered a great bunch of roses and heliotrope for Roma, and then slowly turned his steps back to the house. ‘My flowers!’ he thought bitterly. ‘I have to steal my own flowers, and run the risk of being prosecuted for it.’ No harm, however, resulted from his boldness. He met nobody as he retreated with his fragrant burden; only as he crossed the park, under the shadow of the great trees, he saw Maud and Tor riding gaily over the elastic sward up to the great terrace. ‘What a handsome couple they are!’ thought Phil. ‘And how fond she is of him! I wonder what she will say when I have brought him to ignominy and disgrace. Will that steel her heart against me? I don’t believe women have any sense of justice when their pity is aroused.’ He found Roma alone in the room, where the cloth was laid for lunch. ‘Oh, how lovely!’ she exclaimed, as she saw the flowers. ‘For you,’ he said softly. ‘You know, Roma, what the heliotrope says?’ She bent her head over the flowers, and answered nothing. ‘Tell me,’ he said, with that gentle authority which a man in his position seldom assumes in vain. ‘“_Ich liebe dich_,”’ she answered so softly that he, too, had to bend towards her flowers to catch the words. Next moment they had started apart, for Mr. Meredith had entered the room with a lady upon his arm, the sight of whose face made Phil start with surprise. He knew at a glance who she was—his aunt, Mrs. Belassis. Eighteen years had passed since he had seen her, but yet that handsome, cold face, with its hard lines and clearly cut features, had not been effaced from his recollection; and time had wrought little change in Mrs. Belassis. Phil felt repelled by the face, though he tried not to let himself be too much led by his instinct of distrust. He had that gift of a somewhat finely strung nature, of reading faces with tolerable accuracy, and yet he did not wish to dislike or suspect Mrs. Belassis. She might prove a useful ally, and he was anxious not to allow prejudice to warp his judgment.