Mr. Mackenzie received with a grave dignity and politeness the more than friendly welcome given him both by Mrs. Kavanagh and her daughter, and in view of their approaching tour he gave them to understand that he had himself established somewhat familiar relations with foreign countries by reason of his meeting with the ships and sailors hailing from those distant shores.  He displayed a profound knowledge of the habits and customs and of the natural products of many remote lands which were much farther afield than a little bit of inland Germany.  He represented the island of Borva, indeed, as a sort of lighthouse from which you could survey pretty nearly all the countries of the world, and broadly hinted that so far from insular prejudice being the fruit of living in such a place, a general intercourse with diverse peoples tended to widen the understanding and throw light on the various social experiments that had been made by the lawgivers, the philanthropists, the philosophers of the world.

It seemed to Sheila, as she sat and listened, that the pale, calm and clear-eyed young lady opposite her was not quite so self-possessed as usual.  She seemed shy and a little self-conscious.  Did she suspect that she was being observed, Sheila wondered? and the reason?  When dinner was announced she took Sheila’s arm, and allowed Mr. Ingram to follow them, protesting, into the other room, but there was much more of embarrassment and timidity than of an audacious mischief in her look.  She was very kind indeed to Sheila, but she had wholly abandoned that air of maternal patronage which she used to assume toward the girl.  She seemed to wish to be more friendly and confidential with her, and indeed scarcely spoke a word to Ingram during dinner, so persistently did she talk to Sheila, who sat next her.

Ingram got vexed.  “Mrs. Lorraine,” he said, “you seem to forget that this is a solemn occasion.  You ask us to a farewell banquet, but instead of observing the proper ceremonies you pass the time in talking about fancy-work and music, and other ordinary, every—­day trifles.”

“What are the ceremonies?” she said.

“Well,” he answered, “you need not occupy the time with crochet—­”

“Mrs. Lavender and I are very well pleased to talk about trifles.”

“But I am not,” he said bluntly, “and I am not going to be shut out by a conspiracy.  Come, let us talk about your journey.”

“Will my lord give his commands as to the point at which we shall start the conversation?”

“You may skip the Channel.”

“I wish I could,” she remarked with a sigh.

“We shall land you in Paris.  How are we to know that you have arrived safely?”

She looked embarrassed for a moment, and then said, “If it is of any consequence for you to know, I shall be writing in any case to Mrs. Lavender about some little private matter.”

Ingram did not receive this promise with any great show of delight.  “You see,” he said, somewhat glumly, “if I am to meet you anywhere, I should like to know the various stages of your route, so that I could guard against our missing each other.”