Sheila looked round timidly.  It was not a big room, but it was a palace in height and grandeur and color compared with that little museum in Borva in which Sheila’s piano stood.  It was all so strange and beautiful—­the split pomegranates and quaint leaves on the upper part of the walls, and underneath a dull slate color where the pictures hung; the curious painting on the frames of the mirrors; the brilliant curtains, with their stiff and formal patterns.  It was not very much like a home as yet; it was more like a picture that had been carefully planned and executed; but she knew how he had thought of pleasing her in choosing these things, and without saying a word she took his hand and kissed it.  And then she went to one of the three tall French windows and looked out on the square.  There, between the trees, was a space of beautiful soft green, and some children dressed in bright dresses, and attended by a governess in sober black, had just begun to play croquet.  An elderly lady with a small white dog was walking along one of the graveled paths.  An old man was pruning some bushes.

“It is very still and quiet here,” said Sheila.  “I was afraid we should have to live in that terrible noise always.”

“I hope you won’t find it dull, my darling,” he said.

“Dull, when you are here?”

“But I cannot always be here, you know?”

She looked up.

“You see, a man is so much in the way if he is dawdling about a house all day long.  You would begin to regard me as a nuisance, Sheila, and would be for sending me out to play croquet with those young Carruthers, merely that you might get the rooms dusted.  Besides, you know I couldn’t work here:  I must have a studio of some sort—­in the neighborhood, of course.  And then you will give me your orders in the morning as to when I am to come round for luncheon or dinner.”

“And you will be alone all day at your work?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will come and sit with you, my poor boy,” she said.

“Much work I should do in that case!” he said.  “But we’ll see.  In the mean time go up stairs and get your things off:  that young person below has breakfast ready, I dare say.”

“But you have not shown me yet where Mr. Ingram lives,” said Sheila before she went to the door.

“Oh, that is miles away.  You have only seen a little bit of London yet.  Ingram lives about as far away from here as the distance you have just come, but in another direction.”

“It is like a world made of houses,” said Sheila, “and all filled with strangers.  But you will take me to see Mr. Ingram?”

“By and by, yes.  But he is sure to drop in on you as soon as he fancies you are settled in your new home.”