This little excursion to Richmond was long remembered by those three.  It was the last of their meetings before Sheila was ushered into the big world to busy herself with new occupations and cares.  It was a pleasant little journey throughout, for as they got into the landau to drive back to town the moon was shining high up in the southern heavens, and the air was mild and fresh, so that they had the carriage opened, and Sheila, well wrapped up, lay and looked around her with a strange wonder and joy as they drove underneath the shadow of the trees and out again into the clear sheen of the night.  They saw the river, too, flowing smoothly and palely down between its dark banks; and somehow here the silence checked them, and they hummed no more those duets they used to sing up at Borva.  Of what were they thinking, then, as they drove through the clear night along the lonely road?  Lavender, at least, was rejoicing at his great good fortune that he had secured for ever to himself the true-hearted girl who now sat opposite him, with the moonlight touching her face and hair; and he was laughing to himself at the notion that he did not properly appreciate her or understand her or perceive her real character.  If not he, who then?  Had he not watched every turn of her disposition, every expression of her wishes, every grace of her manner and look of her eyes? and was he not overjoyed to find that the more he knew of her the more he loved her?  Marriage had increased rather than diminished the mystery and wonder he had woven about her.  He was more her lover now than he had been before his marriage.  Who could see in her eyes what he saw?  Elderly folks can look at a girl’s eyes, and see that they are brown or blue or green, as the case may be; but the lover looks at them and sees in them the magic mirror of a hundred possible worlds.  How can he fathom the sea of dreams that lies there, or tell what strange fancies and reminiscences may be involved in an absent look?  Is she thinking of starlit nights on some distant lake, or of the old bygone days on the hills?  All her former life is told there, and yet but half told, and he longs to become possessed of all the beautiful past that she has seen.  Here is a constant mystery to him, and there is a singular and wistful attraction for him in those still deeps where the thoughts and dreams of an innocent soul lie but half revealed.  He does not see those things in the eyes of women he is not in love with; but when in after years he is carelessly regarding this or the other woman, some chance look, some brief and sudden turn of expression, will recall to him, as with a stroke of lightning, all the old wonder-time, and his heart will go nigh to breaking to think that he has grown old, that he has forgotten so much, and that the fair, wild days of romance and longing are passed away for ever.

“Ingram thinks I don’t understand you yet, Sheila,” he said to her after they had got home and their friend had gone.