“She’s got a bad temper, Frank.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Aunt Caroline,” he said, considerably startled.

“Mark my words, she’s got a bad temper, and she is not nearly so soft as she tries to make out.  That girl has a great deal of firmness, Frank.”

“I find her as gentle and submissive as a girl could be—­a little too gentle, perhaps, and anxious to study the wishes of other folks.”

“That is all very well with you.  You are her master.  She is not likely to quarrel with her bread and butter.  But you’ll see if she does not hold her own when she gets among your friends.”

“I hope she will hold her own.”

The old lady only shook her head.

“I am sorry you should have taken a prejudice against her, Aunt Caroline,” said the young man humbly.

“I take a prejudice!  Don’t let me hear the word again, Frank.  You know I have no prejudices.  If I cannot give you a reason for anything I believe, then I cease to believe it.”

“You have not heard her sing,” he said, suddenly remembering that this means of conquering the old lady had been neglected.

“I have no doubt she has many accomplishments,” said Aunt Caroline coldly.  “In time, I suppose, she will get over that extraordinary accent she has.”

“Many people like it.”

“I dare say you do—­at present.  But you may tire of it.  You married her in a hurry, and you have not got rid of your romance yet.  At the same time, I dare say she is a very good sort of girl, and will not disgrace you if you instruct her and manage her properly.  But remember my words—­she has a temper, and you will find it out if you thwart her.”

How sweet and fresh the air was, even in Kensington, when Sheila, having dressed and come down stairs, and after having dutifully kissed Mrs. Lavender and bade her good-bye, went outside with her husband!  It was like coming back to the light of day from inside the imaginary coffin in which she had fancied herself placed.  A soft west wind was blowing over the Park, and a fairly clear sunlight shining on the May green of the trees.  And then she hung on her husband’s arm, and she had him to speak to instead of the terrible old woman who talked about dying.

And yet she hoped she had not offended Mrs. Lavender, for Frank’s sake.  What he thought about the matter he prudently resolved to conceal.

“Do you know that you have greatly pleased my aunt?” he said, without the least compunction.  He knew that if he breathed the least hint about what had actually been said, any possible amity between the two women would be rendered impossible for ever.

“Have I, really?” said Sheila, very much astonished, but never thinking for a moment of doubting anything said by her husband.

“Oh, she likes you awfully,” he said with an infinite coolness.

“I am so glad!” said Sheila, with her face brightening.  “I was so afraid, dear, I had offended her.  She did not look pleased with me.”