“Well, Sheila, what do you think of the place?” her husband said to her with a laugh as they were driving down the Queen’s road.

She did not answer.

“It is not like Borvabost, is it?”

She was too bewildered to speak.  She could only look about her with a vague wonder and disappointment.  But surely this great gray city was not the place they had come to live in?  Would it not disappear somehow, and they would get away to the sea and the rocks and the boats?

They passed into the upper part of West street, and here was another thoroughfare, down which Sheila glanced with no great interest.  But the next moment there was a quick catching of her breath, which almost resembled a sob, and a strange glad light sprang into her eyes.  Here at last was the sea!  Away beyond the narrow thoroughfare she could catch a glimpse of a great green plain—­yellow-green it was in the sunlight—­that the wind was whitening here and there with tumbling waves.  She had not noticed that there was any wind in-land—­there everything seemed asleep—­but here there was a fresh breeze from the south, and the sea had been rough the day before, and now it was of this strange olive color, streaked with the white curls of foam that shone in the sunlight.  Was there not a cold scent of sea-weed, too, blown up this narrow passage between the houses?  And now the carriage cut round the corner and whirled out into the glare of the Parade, and before her the great sea stretched out its leagues of tumbling and shining waves, and she heard the water roaring along the beach, and far away at the horizon she saw a phantom ship.  She did not even look at the row of splendid hotels and houses, at the gayly-dressed folks on the pavement, at the brilliant flags that were flapping and fluttering on the New Pier and about the beach.  It was the great world of shining water beyond that fascinated her, and awoke in her a strange yearning and longing, so that she did not know whether it was grief or joy that burned in her heart and blinded her eyes with tears.  Mrs. Kavanagh took her arm as they were going up the steps of the hotel, and said in a friendly way, “I suppose you have some sad memories of the sea?”

“No,” said Sheila bravely, “it is always pleasant to me to think of the sea; but it is a long time since—­since—­”

“Sheila,” said her husband abruptly, “do tell me if all your things are here;” and then the girl turned, calm and self-collected, to look after rugs and boxes.

When they were finally established in the hotel Lavender went off to negotiate for the hire of a carriage for Mrs. Kavanagh during her stay, and Sheila was left with the two ladies.  They had tea in their sitting-room, and they had it at one of the windows, so that they could look out on the stream of people and carriages now beginning to flow by in the clear yellow light of the afternoon.  But neither the people nor the carriages had much interest for Sheila, who, indeed, sat for the most part silent, intently watching the various boats that were putting out or coming in, and busy with conjectures which she knew there was no use placing before her two companions.