By the way, they had not found a trace of Farquharson.
Several short, sharp battles she had with Sir Peter; the cause, in each instance, the same. He did not try to disguise his desire that she should forget her mother. The first encounter between them took place within a year of her home-coming.
"If I cannot remember my darling, darling mamma in your house, Uncle Peter, I shall not stay here," she declared. "I will go away and never, never come back any more. And then you would be sorry."
Sir Peter compromised with irrelevant sweets. But he saw she was terribly in earnest, for such a little girl.
From time to time a similar incident disturbed the loving relationship between them; a relationship that was perfect otherwise, in confidence, sincerity and affection.
When she was eighteen, some one told her she began to look like her mother.
"God forbid!" said Sir Peter, when she told him.
Phyllis went white.
"Uncle Peter, my mother was an angel. She was my father's——"
"Ruin," interposed Sir Peter, his brows darkening.