She knew no other road to Richmond than that by which they had driven shortly after her arrival in London; and so it was that she went down and over Hammersmith Bridge, and round by Mortlake, and so on by East Sheen.  The road seemed terribly long.  She was an excellent walker, and in ordinary circumstances would have done the distance without fatigue; but when at length she saw the gates of the Park before her, she was at once exceedingly tired and almost faint from hunger.  Here was the hotel in which they had dined:  should she enter?  The place seemed very grand and forbidding:  she had scarcely even looked at it as she went up the steps with her husband by her side.  However, she would venture, and accordingly she went up and into the vestibule, looking rather timidly about.  A young gentleman, apparently not a waiter, approached her and seemed to wait for her to speak.  It was a terrible moment.  What was she to ask for? and could she ask it of this young man?  Fortunately, he spoke first, and asked her if she wished to go into the coffee-room, and if she expected any one.

“No, I do not expect any one,” she said; and she knew that he would perceive the peculiarity of her accent; “but if you will be kind enough to tell me where I may have a biscuit—­”

It occurred to her that to go into the Star and Garter for a biscuit was absurd; and she added wildly, “—­or anything to eat.”

The young man obviously regarded her with some surprise; but he was very courteous, and showed her into the coffee-room and called a waiter to her.  Moreover, he gave permission for Bras to be admitted into the room, Sheila promising that he would lie under the table and not budge an inch.  Then she looked round.  There were only three persons in the room—­one, an old lady seated by herself in a far corner, the other two being a couple of young folks too much engrossed with each other to mind any one else.  She began to feel more at home.  The waiter suggested various things for lunch, and she made her choice of something cold.  Then she mustered up courage to ask for a glass of sherry.  How she would have enjoyed all this as a story to tell to her husband but for that incident of the morning!  She would have gloried in her outward bravery, and made him smile with a description of her inward terror.  She would have written about it to the old man in Borva, and bid him consider how she had been transformed, and what strange scenes Bras was now witnessing.  But all that was over.  She felt as if she could no longer ask her husband to be amused by her childish experiences; and as for writing to her father, she dared not write to him in her present mood.  Perhaps some happier time would come.  Sheila paid her bill.  She had heard her husband and Mr. Ingram talk about tipping waiters, and knew that she ought to give something to the man who had attended on her.  But how much?  He was a very august-looking person, with formally-cut whiskers and a severe expression of face.  When he had brought back the change to her she timidly selected a half crown and offered it to him.  There was a little glance of surprise:  she feared she had not given him enough.  Then he said “Thank you!” in a vague and distant fashion, and she knew that she had not given him enough.  But it was too late.  Bras was summoned from under the table, and again she went out into the fresh air.