having sent on all their luggage by a respectable old four-wheeler, got into the hansom beside her, and put his hand inside her arm, and bade her be of good cheer that she should have such a pleasant morning to welcome her to London, she said “Yes” mechanically, and only looked out in a wistful fashion at the great houses and trees of Euston Square, the mighty and roaring stream of omnibuses, the droves of strangers, mostly clad in black, as if they were going to church, and the pale blue smoke that seemed to mix with the sunshine and make it cold and distant.

They were in no hurry, these two, on that still morning, and so, to impress Sheila all at once with a sense of the greatness and grandeur of London, he made the cabman cut down by Park Crescent and Portland Place to Regent Circus.  Then they went along Oxford street; and there were crowded omnibuses taking young men into the city, while all the pavements were busy with hurrying passers-by.  What multitudes of unknown faces, unknown to her and unknown to each other!  These people did not speak:  they only hurried on, each intent upon his own affairs, caring nothing, apparently, for the din around them, and looking so strange and sad in their black clothes in the pale and misty sunlight.

“You are in a trance, Sheila,” he said.

She did not answer.  Surely she had wandered into some magical city, for now the houses on one side of the way suddenly ceased, and she saw before her a great and undulating extent of green, with a border of beautiful flowers, and with groups of trees that met the sky all along the southern horizon.  Did the green and beautiful country she had seen shoot in thus into the heart of the town, or was there another city far away on the other side of the trees?  The place was almost as deserted as those still valleys she had passed by in the morning.  Here, in the street, there was the roar of a passing crowd, but there was a long and almost deserted stretch of park, with winding roads and umbrageous trees, on which the wan sunlight fell from between loose masses of half-golden cloud.

Then they passed Kensington Gardens, and there were more people walking down the broad highways between the elms.

“You are getting nearly home now, Sheila,” he said.  “And you will be able to come and walk in these avenues whenever you please.”

Was this, then, her home?—­this section of a barrack-row of dwellings, all alike in steps, pillars, doors and windows?  When she got inside the servant who had opened the door bobbed a curtsey to her:  should she shake hands with her and say, “And are you ferry well?” But at this moment Lavender came running up the steps, playfully hurried her into the house and up the stairs, and led her into her own drawing-room.  “Well, darling, what do you think of your home, now that you see it?”