CHAPTER XV

AN INADVERTENT DISCOVERY

IT was one of those links in the chain of life, which present themselves unsought, which at the moment seem unimportant; yet which have a grave bearing upon one's after happiness.

Phyllys had no thought of making any discovery; indeed, she did not recognise it as such. Her mind was bent upon the disappointing nature of human friendships; though she did not use such phraseology, but only said to herself that things were "horrid." She was perplexed and uncomfortable; wondering what could have so upset Giles; wishing he would behave like his former self.

Little had been seen of him since his arrival. At luncheon he was sombre, and Phyllys treated him with dignity. Colin looked ill, ate nothing, and talked like a machine wound up; and since luncheon he too had been invisible.

Between five and six o'clock Phyllys was alone with Mrs. Keith. Rain fell heavily, keeping them in, and keeping callers away. Mrs. Keith knew nothing of the studio scene; but she had noted with dismay Phyllys' bearing at luncheon, towards both Giles and Colin, and she used this opportunity to descant on dear Giles' fine character, the beautiful devotion between him and Colin, and the manner in which, years earlier, he had been wont to deny himself amusement that he might spend hours beside Colin in a darkened room, making time pass for the invalid.

"If you had any idea how Colin used to suffer, you really wouldn't wonder at my anxiety," she observed. "For days together he could hardly endure a glimmer of light. One dreads what might bring that back. And Colin never can do anything without working himself into a state of excitement."

She reverted to the merits of Giles.

"There is something about him so grand, so unlike the common run of men. He has such control over himself. Colin is a dear fellow too; still, his is the smaller and weaker nature."

"I shouldn't have thought so; he seems to me anything but weak."

"That may be hardly the right word; and if he is small, it is only by comparison with Giles. Almost any man seems dwarfed beside him. Yes, even my own boy. Is that odd? Why should love be blind? I do not see Colin's faults the less, because he is dear to me. As for Giles' faults, really I find it hard to say what they are, except a hot temper, conquered long ago."

Phyllys was silent. Morning recollections supplied a commentary.

"Dear fellow, he is so unselfish," went on Mrs. Keith. "So wonderfully kind. Giles' wife, by-and-by, will be the happiest of women. As for Colin's wife, it is to be hoped that she will not mind his moods and trying ways."

But if Mrs. Keith wished to turn Phyllys from Colin to Giles, she went to work in a wrong fashion. Talk presently branched to Kathleen Alyn and her father, and Phyllys felt this to be a safer topic. She was learning caution.

"Kathleen is a fascinating woman," averred Mrs. Keith, beginning to outline an elaborate pattern upon a square of silk. "Everybody likes her. Mr. Dugdale can be disagreeable when he chooses."

"I should think most people could." Phyllys liked Mr. Dugdale.

"Tiresome!" muttered Mrs. Keith. "This silk will not do. I must get the other piece."

"What piece? Can I find it?"

Mrs. Keith raised absent eyes. She was thinking what a pretty tractable wife Phyllys might make for Giles. For reasons of her own, unknown to other people, she had set her heart on this consummation.

"Thanks very much, if it will not be a trouble. I don't want to disarrange these things by moving. It is a square of crimson silk, and you will see it on the shelf, just inside one of my black oak cabinets. There are two in my room, you know. The one that is unlocked, on the right side as you go in."

Phyllys ran upstairs, thinking still of Giles, and suddenly found herself face to face with him. He looked so solemn that she could not resist a smile, and his face relaxed.

"I have seen nothing of you yet," he observed. "But to-morrow—"

"Are you going out now?"

"I am obliged, unfortunately. But, if I might count on you in the morning for a walk—would you come? We have no fells or mountain streams; still, you shall see something pretty."

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?"

"Thanks, no; it is nothing. I shall be all right. So stupid of me!" And Mrs. Keith smiled. "I have had three or four such turns lately. I shall have to ask Dr. Wallace for a tonic; only I do so dislike the man. Well—" and she pressed her handkerchief to her lips—"now I am better. What were you saying, just before the faintness came on? Something about—how absurd of me to forget! My head is confused."

"Only about that old painting in your cabinet. I thought it must be some relative, because of the likeness to Colin," She would not suggest Mrs. Keith's husband, though the idea had occurred. A wife would hardly bury her husband's portrait beneath a pile of old clothes.

"Ah, to be sure—yes!—I remember. An old painting of my brother Jock—Colin's uncle. Not so old, of course, as it looks. The artist had a fancy to do it in that style. You are right about the dress. It was for theatricals. He was good at acting—very much in request. You found the silk?"

Phyllys gave it, remarking, "I had not heard of your brother."

"Really! But you would not. Jock has been so long in Australia, never coming home, that friends forget his existence."

"Had you not better rest?" asked the girl, pitying her blanched lips.

"It really is of no consequence. I am used to these turns, and I think nothing of them. One word, before any one comes. Phyllys, I am going to treat you as a friend."

Phyllys waited, and Mrs. Keith's lips worked nervously.

"That old portrait—no one except myself knows about it, and I 'particularly' wish that others should not know. There are reasons which I am not able to explain. It has—painful associations. The very sight of it makes me miserable for days."

"But Colin—" the girl said.

"Colin has no idea of its existence."

"Of course I will say nothing."

"That is what I was going to ask. If you had kept to my directions you would not have opened the wrong cabinet. Under the circumstances, I have a right to ask you never to mention the portrait. It would mean no end of talk and explanation—and pain to myself, which really I cannot stand. Will you give me your promise, on your word of honour?"

It seemed to Phyllys a considerable fuss about nothing; but she readily made answer, "Yes, of course. I promise never to say a word to anybody about the painting unless you give me leave. I'm sorry I went to the wrong cabinet."

"That does not matter, my dear. All I wish is to avoid tiresome and useless discussions. But I know I may depend upon you, and now we can dismiss the subject. I think I must have some sal volatile after all—I feel so queer still. Thanks, no—I had better go myself. It will do me good to move."

She mounted the wide staircase, stepping languidly till within her own room. Then her manner changed. She bolted the door, and went to the left-hand cabinet, finding it as described by Phyllys.

"How insane of me!" she muttered. She began to pile more clothes over the picture, but stopped.

"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.