Philip used to wonder if the dream that preceded her illness was the
suggestive cause that drew her so often to the shore. Her illness
consequent upon that dream had filled his mind, so that for many
months he himself had had no haunting vision of Kinraid to disturb
his slumbers. But now the old dream of Kinraid's actual presence by
Philip's bedside began to return with fearful vividness. Night after
night it recurred; each time with some new touch of reality, and
close approach; till it was as if the fate that overtakes all men
were then, even then, knocking at his door.
In his business Philip prospered. Men praised him because he did
well to himself. He had the perseverance, the capability for
head-work and calculation, the steadiness and general forethought
which might have made him a great merchant if he had lived in a
large city. Without any effort of his own, almost, too, without
Coulson's being aware of it, Philip was now in the position of
superior partner; the one to suggest and arrange, while Coulson only
carried out the plans that emanated from Philip. The whole work of
life was suited to the man: he did not aspire to any different
position, only to the full development of the capabilities of that
which he already held. He had originated several fresh schemes with
regard to the traffic of the shop; and his old masters, with all
their love of tried ways, and distrust of everything new, had been
candid enough to confess that their successors' plans had resulted
in success. 'Their successors.' Philip was content with having the
power when the exercise of it was required, and never named his own
important share in the new improvements. Possibly, if he had,
Coulson's vanity might have taken the alarm, and he might not have
been so acquiescent for the future. As it was, he forgot his own
subordinate share, and always used the imperial 'we', 'we thought',
'it struck us,' &c.