remonstrating against his extravagance, at last fell asleep on the more or less comfortable cushions stretched across the planks, Lavender would have him wake up again, that he might be induced to talk once more about Sheila.  Ingram would make use of some wicked words, rub his eyes, ask what was the last station they had passed, and then begin to preach to Lavender about the great obligations he was under to Sheila, and what would be expected of him in after times.

“You are coming away just now,” he would say, while Lavender, who could not sleep at all, was only anxious that Sheila’s name should be mentioned, “enriched with a greater treasure than falls to the lot of most men.  If you know how to value that treasure, there is not a king or emperor in Europe who should not envy you.”

“But don’t you think I value it?” the other would say anxiously.

“We’ll see about that afterward, by what you do.  But in the mean time you don’t know what you have won.  You don’t know the magnificent single-heartedness of that girl, her keen sense of honor, nor the strength of character, of judgment and decision that lies beneath her apparent simplicity.  Why, I have known Sheila, now—­But what’s the use of talking?”

“I wish you would talk, though, Ingram,” said his companion quite submissively.  “You have known her longer than I. I am willing to believe all you say of her, and anxious, indeed, to know as much about her as possible.  You don’t suppose I fancy she is anything less than you say?”

“Well,” said Ingram doubtfully, “perhaps not.  The worst of it is, that you take such odd readings of people.  However, when you marry her, as I now hope you may, you will soon find out; and then, if you are not grateful, if you don’t understand and appreciate then the fine qualities of this girl, the sooner you put a millstone round your neck and drop over Chelsea Bridge the better.”

“She will always have in you a good friend to look after her when she comes to London.”

“Oh, don’t imagine I mean to thrust myself in at your breakfast-table to give you advice.  If a husband and wife cannot manage their own affairs satisfactorily, no third person can; and I am getting to be an elderly man, who likes peace and comfort and his own quiet.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk such nonsense!” said Lavender impetuously.  “You know you are bound to marry; and the woman you ask to marry you will be a precious fool if she refuses.  I don’t know, indeed, how you and Sheila ever escaped—­”

“Look here, Lavender,” said his companion, speaking in a somewhat more earnest fashion, “if you marry Sheila Mackenzie I suppose I may see something of both of you from time to time.  But you are naturally jealous and exacting, as is the way with many good fellows who have had too much of their own will in the world; and if you start off with the notion now that Sheila and I might ever have married, or that such a thing was ever thought of by either of us, the certain consequence will be that you will become jealous of me, and that in time I shall have to stop seeing either of you if you happen to be living in London.”