What cries of wild despair
  Awake the sultry air? 
  Frenzied with anxious care,
      She seeks Monaltrie—­

he heard no more of the song.  He was thinking of bygone days in Borva, and of old Mackenzie living in his lonely house there.  When Sheila had finished singing he looked at her, and it seemed to him that she was still that wonderful princess whom he had wooed on the shores of the Atlantic.  And if those people did not see her as he saw her, ought he to be disappointed because of their blindness?

But if they saw nothing mystic or wonderful about Sheila, they at all events were considerably surprised by the strange sort of music she sang.  It was not of a sort commonly heard in a London drawing-room.  The pathos of its minor chords, its abrupt intervals, startling and wild in their effect, and the slowly subsiding wail in which it closed, did not much resemble the ordinary drawing-room “piece.”  Here, at least, Sheila had produced an impression; and presently there was a heap of people round the piano, expressing their admiration, asking questions and begging her to continue.  But she rose.  She would rather not sing just then.  Whereupon Lavender came out to her and said, “Sheila, won’t you sing that wild one about the farewell—­that has the sound of the pipes in it, you know?”

“Oh yes,” she said directly.

Lavender went back to his companion.

“She is very obedient to you,” said Mrs. Lorraine with a smile.

“Yes, at present,” he said; and he thought meanly of himself for saying it the moment the words were uttered.

  Oh, soft be thy slumbers, by Tigh-na-linne’s waters;
  Thy late-wake was sung by Macdiarmid’s fair daughters;
  But far in Lochaber the true heart was weeping
  Whose hopes are entombed in the grave where thou’rt sleeping.

So Sheila sang; and it seemed to the people that this ballad was even more strange than its predecessor.  When the song was over, Sheila seemed rather anxious to get out of the crowd, and indeed walked away into the conservatory to have a look at the flowers.

Yes, Lavender had to confess to himself, Sheila was just like anybody else in this drawing-room.  His sea-princess had produced no startling impression.  He forgot that he had just been teaching her the necessity of observing the ways and customs of the people around her, so that she might avoid singularity.

On one point, at least, she was resolved she would attend to his counsels:  she would not make him ridiculous by any show of affection before the eyes of strangers.  She did not go near him the whole evening.  She remained for the most part in that half conservatory, half ante-room at the end of the drawing-room; and when any one talked to her she answered, and when she was left alone she turned to the flowers.  All this time, however, she could observe that Lavender and Mrs. Lorraine were very much engrossed in their