Then she rose and took both his hands, and looked frankly into his face.

“—­And I do hope most sincerely you will be happy, my dear friend.”

Ingram was fairly taken aback at the consequences of his own imprudence.  He had never dreamed for a moment that any one would have suspected such a thing; and he had thrown out the suggestion to Sheila almost as a jest, believing, of course, that it compromised no one.  And here, before he had spoken a word to Mrs. Lorraine on the subject, he was being congratulated on his approaching marriage.

“Oh, Sheila,” he said, “this is all a mistake.  It was a joke of mine.  If I had known you would think of Mrs. Lorraine, I should not have said a word about it.”

“But it is Mrs. Lorraine?” Sheila said.

“Well, but I have never mentioned such a thing to her—­never hinted it in the remotest manner.  I dare say if I had she might laugh the matter aside as too absurd.”

“She will not do that,” Sheila said.  “If you ask her to marry you, she will marry you:  I am sure of that from what I have heard, and she would be very foolish if she was not proud and glad to do that.  And you—­what doubt can you have, after all that you have been saying of late?”

“But you don’t marry a woman merely because you admire her cleverness and kindness,” he said; and then he added suddenly, “Sheila, would you do me a great favor?  Mrs. Lorraine and her mother are leaving for the Continent to-night.  They dine at five, and I am commissioned to ask you and your papa if you would go up with me and have some dinner with them, you know, before they start.  Won’t you do that, Sheila?”

The girl shook her head, without answering.  She had not gone to any friend’s house since her husband had left London, and that house, above all others, was calculated to awaken in her bitter recollections.

“Won’t you, Sheila?” he said.  “You used to go there.  I know they like you very much.  I have seen you very well pleased and comfortable there, and I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“Yes, that is true,” she said; and then she looked up, with a strange sort of smile on her lips, “But ‘what made the assembly shine?’”

That forced smile did not last long:  the girl suddenly burst into tears, and rose and went away to the window.  Mackenzie came into the room:  he did not see his daughter was crying:  “Well, Mr. Ingram, and are you coming with us to the Lewis?  We cannot always be staying in London, for there will be many things wanting the looking after in Borva, as you will know ferry well.  And yet Sheila she will not go back; and Mairi too, she will be forgetting the ferry sight of her own people; but if you wass coming with us, Mr. Ingram, Sheila she would come too, and it would be ferry good for her whatever.”

“I have brought you another proposal.  Will you take Sheila to see the Tyrol, and I will go with you?”