“Sheila, what on earth is the matter?  Here, come out into the fresh air.  By Jove, how pale you are!  Will you have some water?”

He could not get to understand thoroughly what had occurred.  What he clearly did learn from Sheila’s disjointed and timid explanations was that there had been another “scene,” and he knew that of all things in the world his aunt hated “scenes” the worst.  As soon as he saw that there was little the matter with Sheila beyond considerable mental perturbation, he could not help addressing some little remonstrance to her, and reminding her how necessary it was that she should not offend the old lady up stairs.

“You should not be so excitable, Sheila,” he said.  “You take such exaggerated notions about things.  I am sure my aunt meant nothing unkind.  And what did you say when you came away?”

“I said I wanted to see you.  Are you angry with me?”

“No, of course not.  But then, you see, it is a little vexing just at this moment.  Well, let us go up stairs at once, and try and make up some excuse, like a good girl.  Say you felt faint—­anything.”

“And you will come with me?”

“Yes.  Now do try, Sheila, to make friends with my aunt.  She’s not such a bad sort of creature as you seem to think.  She’s been very kind to me—­she’ll be very kind to you when she knows you more.”

Fortunately, no excuse was necessary, for Mrs. Lavender, in Sheila’s absence, had arrived at the conclusion that the girl’s temporary faintness was due to that piece of Roquefort.

“You see you must be careful,” she said when they entered the room.  “You are unaccustomed to a great many things you will like afterward.”

“And the room is a little close,” said Lavender.

“I don’t think so,” said his aunt, sharply:  “look at the barometer.”

“I didn’t mean for you and me, Aunt Caroline,” he said, “but for her.  Sheila has been accustomed to live almost wholly in the open air.”

“The open air in moderation is an excellent thing.  I go out myself every afternoon, wet or dry.  And I was going to propose, Frank, that you should leave her here with me for the afternoon, and come back and dine with us at seven.  I am going out at four-thirty, and she could go with me.”

“It’s very kind of you, Aunt Caroline, but we have promised to call on some people close by here at four.”

Sheila looked up frightened.  The statement was an audacious perversion of the truth.  But then Frank Lavender knew very well what his aunt meant by going into the open air every afternoon, wet or dry.  At one certain hour her brougham was brought round:  she got into it, and had both doors and windows hermetically sealed, and then, in a semi-somnolent state, she was driven slowly and monotonously round the Park.  How would Sheila fare if she were shut up in this box?  He told a lie with great equanimity, and saved her.

Then Sheila was taken away to get on her things, and her husband waited, with some little trepidation, to hear what his aunt would say about her.  He had not long to wait.