CHAPTER XXXI

GILES AND HIS HOPES

THE dinner, kept up to the mark by Mr. Dugdale, went off as small dinners commonly do.

Mrs. Keith was well-dressed, but she could not have been complimented on her looks. Her face was pale with a spotted pallor, drawn, and lined. Colin noted her appearance as unusual. His eyes travelled often in her direction, and his gaze showed only concern; but the concern terrified her.

Giles observed no difference, for his mind was occupied elsewhere. Since the first morning he had been much with Phyllys, yet he could not flatter himself with having made great way. For Colin's sake, as well as his own, now that he had gathered the other's supposed quest to be hopeless, he would fain have brought matters to a point. Phyllys, however, was in an "elusive" mood; entirely charming, but by no means to be promptly won. She held him at bay and fascinated him, at one and the same time.

Colin's return was unexpected. He had meant to stay in the north longer. The avowed cause, something to do with modelling, did not satisfy Giles, who suspected Phyllys to be the true reason. He seemed to be in good spirits, but looked ill, as always after travelling. Phyllys ascribed his looks to his mother's reception, which reception now held in her mind a new and sinister meaning. That midnight suspicion haunted her.

Small-talk had not been included in Giles' composition; and the Vicar did not love chit-chat; while the Doctor was uncomfortably conscious of his hostess' dislike. But Mr. Dugdale kept the ball going.

Not long after Mrs. Keith and Phyllys left the table, they were joined by Colin; and when he appeared, the elder lady walked off, leaving him alone with the girl—an unusual move on her part, but she could not longer face his scrutiny.

"Have you come straight from Scotland?" Phyllys asked. "You look awfully tired."

"Dining-room atmosphere. No—I slept at York."

He seemed indisposed to talk, and she left him mercifully alone; but soon there was a murmured—"What brought the Swiss plan to grief?"

"Mrs. Keith wanted to get home."

"Any reason?"

She decided that Mrs. Keith's son had a right to ask, and she related to him, as to Giles, about the letter found at Thun, her supposed glimpse of Giles at Interlaken, and Mrs. Keith's fainting-fit. He listened with interest.

"I see you connect fainting-fit and letter."

"Mrs. Keith said it was not that."

"She must have advice. If one could contrive it, a London specialist."

"A specialist for—?"

"Brain—" very low.

"You think that explains all?"

"I'm not up to thinking anything definitely this evening." Then came a change of topic, and Phyllys found him to be speaking of Giles. "One of the best fellows that ever lived," he said. "Honestly, I believe there's nothing in the world he wouldn't give me if he could!"

Phyllys' reply was impulsive. "Yes. He said so. 'At any cost!' I wondered what he meant. He said he owed you so much."

She was aware of a drawing back. "Unfortunately the debt lies the other way."

"Giles must know," she insisted. "He told me he never could repay what he owed to you. He did not explain—and of course it is not my business." But it might be her business one day, she thought, if things came about as seemed not impossible.

"He likes to put things strongly. Sounds effective. Don't make too much of it." Colin's tone was evasive. "Some boyish escapade in his mind."

"It didn't sound so."

"Giles was talking nonsense."

Was he? Phyllys knew him to be a man not addicted to careless speech. What he had said he meant.

Perhaps Colin did not wish to be questioned further, for he moved away.

Giles was still a prisoner in his own dining-room. The Vicar and Dr. Wallace had plunged into a discussion, and, like most men not possessed of the faculty of small-talk, when they did set forth upon the waters of a debate, they floated far. Their host had to sit it out as best he might.

When at length freed, he found Phyllys alone with Mrs. Keith, and not till the end of the evening did he come across Colin, lying on the library sofa.

"Here—by yourself!" he said involuntarily. "Your head?" He shut the door and came near, looking down on the pale chiselled face. "What brought you back so soon?"

"Erratic disposition. If the moulding won't do!"

"You meant to stay longer."

"Perhaps—yes. Why don't you try conclusions with—" and a pause—"Phyllys?"

He was smiling with his most detached air. Giles remained grave.

"How long have you known?"

"Lately. For a time I was not sure."

"You think—there is hope for me?" He stood upright, waiting in suspense for the reply. Few looking on would have guessed the greater force of will and character to belong to that slight recumbent figure.

Colin laughed. "As if you didn't know! Go ahead, and don't shilly-shally! That's my advice. Speak out at once."

"Thanks. I will."

Giles went to his little sanctum, and Colin turned his face from the light, bearing pain quietly. Not pain of body alone. Giles had won his way earlier to victory through defeat; but in Colin's case there was no defeat, and no man knew of his strife. He loved; and at one time he had hoped; but when he read what Phyllys was to Giles, he drew back. He would not stand—if he might—in the way of Giles' happiness.