She looked at him for a moment, and he saw that she knew what this appointment meant, for her eyes were full of gladness and gratitude.  He went away pleased at heart that she put so much trust in him.  And in this case he should be able to reward that confidence, for Lavender was really a good sort of fellow, and would at once be sorry for the wrong he had unintentionally done, and be only too anxious to set it right.  He ought to leave Brighton at once, and London too.  He ought to go away into the country or by the seaside, and begin working hard, to earn money and self-respect at the same time; and then, in this friendly solitude, he would get to know something about Sheila’s character, and begin to perceive how much more valuable were these genuine qualities of heart and mind than any social graces such as might lighten up a dull drawing-room.  Had Lavender yet learnt to know the worth of an honest woman’s perfect love and unquestioning devotion?  Let these things be put before him, and he would go and do the right thing, as he had many a time done before, in obedience to the lecturing of his friend.

Ingram called at half-past three, and went into the coffee-room.  There was no one in the long, large room, and he sat down at one of the small tables by the windows, from which a bit of lawn, the King’s road and the sea beyond were visible.  He had scarcely taken his seat when Lavender came in.

“Hallo, Ingram! how are you?” he said in his freest and friendliest way.  “Won’t you come up stairs?  Have you had lunch?  Why did you go to the Ship?”

“I always go to the Ship,” he said.  “No, thank you, I won’t go up stairs.”

“You are a most unsociable sort of brute?” said Lavender frankly.  “Will you take a glass of sherry?”

“No, thank you.”

“Will you have a game of billiards?”

“No, thank you.  You don’t mean to say you would play billiards on such a day as this?”

“It is a fine day, isn’t it?” said Lavender, turning carelessly to look at the sunlit road and the blue sea.  “By the way, Sheila tells me you and she were out sailing this morning.  It must have been very pleasant, especially for her, for she is mad about such things.  What a curious girl she is, to be sure!  Don’t you think so?”

“I don’t know what you mean by curious,” said Ingram coldly.

“Well, you know, strange—­odd—­unlike other people in her ways and her fancies.  Did I tell you about my aunt taking her to see some friends of hers at Norwood?  No?  Well, Sheila had got out of the house somehow (I suppose their talking did not interest her), and when they went in search of her they found her in the cemetery crying like a child.”

“What about?”

“Why,” said Lavender with a smile, “merely because so many people had died.  She had never seen anything like that before:  you know the small church-yards up in Lewis, with their inscriptions in Norwegian and Danish and German.  I suppose the first sight of all the white stones at Norwood was too much for her.”