“If you will excuse me,” said Ingram, with a smile that had less of embarrassment about it than he could have expected, “I would rather speak to you for a few minutes first.  The fact is, I have come on a self-imposed errand; and that must be my apology for—­for thrusting myself—­”

“I am sure no apology is needed,” said the girl.  “We have always been expecting to see you.  Will you sit down?”

He put his hat and his cane on the table, and as he did so he recorded a mental resolution not to be led away by the apparent innocence and sweetness of this woman.  What a fool he had been, to expect her to appear in the guise of some forward and giggling coquette, as if Frank Lavender, with all his faults, could have suffered anything like coarseness of manners!  But was this woman any the less dangerous that she was refined and courteous, and had the speech and bearing of a gentlewoman?

“Mrs. Lorraine,” he said, lowering his eyebrows somewhat, “I may as well be frank with you.  I have come upon an unpleasant errand—­an affair, indeed, which ought to be no business of mine; but sometimes, when you care a little for some one, you don’t mind running the risk of being treated as an intermeddler.  You know that I know Mrs. Lavender.  She is an old friend of mine.  She was almost a child when I knew her first, and I still have a sort of notion that she is a child, and that I should look after her, and so—­and so—­”

She sat quite still.  There was no surprise, no alarm, no anger when Sheila’s name was mentioned.  She was merely attentive, but now, seeing that he hesitated, she said, “I do not know what you have to say, but if it is serious may not I ask mamma to join us?”

“If you please, no.  I would rather speak with you alone, as this matter concerns yourself only.  Well, the fact is, I have seen for some time back that Mrs. Lavender is very unhappy.  She is left alone; she knows no one in London; perhaps she does not care to join much in those social amusements that her husband enjoys.  I say this poor girl is an old friend of mine:  I cannot help trying to do something to make her less wretched; and so I have ventured to come to you to see if you could not assist me.  Mr. Lavender comes very much to your house, and Sheila is left all by herself; and doubtless she begins to fancy that her husband is neglectful, perhaps indifferent to her, and may get to imagine things that are quite wrong, you know, and that could be explained away by a little kindness on your part.”

Was this, then, the fashion in which Jonah had gone up to curse the wickedness of Nineveh?  As he had spoken he had been aware that those sincere, somewhat matter—­of-fact and far from unfriendly eyes that were fixed on him had undergone no change whatever.  Here was no vile creature who would start up with a guilty conscience to repel the remotest hint of an accusation; and indeed, quite unconsciously to himself, he had been led on to ask for her help.  Not that he feared her.  Not that he could not have said the harshest things to her which there was any reason for saying.  But somehow there seemed to be no occasion for the utterance of any cruel truths.