“You are trying very hard to get accustomed to it, any way, my good girl,” said her husband.

“You need not be in a hurry:  you may begin to regret some day that you have not a little of that feeling of wonder left,” said Ingram.  “But you have not told me anything of what you think about London, and of how you like it, and how you like your house, and what you have done with Bras, and a thousand other things.”

“I will tell you all that directly, when I have got for you some wine and some biscuits.”

“Sheila, you can ring for them,” said her husband, but she had by that time departed on her mission.  Presently she returned, and waited upon Ingram just as if she had been in her father’s house in Borva, with the gentlemen in a hurry to go out to the fishing, and herself the only one who could serve them.

She put a small table close by the French window; she drew back the curtains as far as they would go, to show the sunshine of a bright forenoon in May lighting up the trees in the square and gleaming on the pale and tall fronts of the houses beyond; and she wheeled in three low easy-chairs, so as to front this comparatively cheerful prospect.

Somehow or other, it seemed quite natural that Sheila should wheel in those chairs.  It was certainly no disrespect on the part of either her husband or her visitor which caused both of them to sit still and give her her own way about such things.  Indeed, Lavender had not as yet ever attempted to impress upon Sheila the necessity of cultivating the art of helplessness.  That, with other social graces, would perhaps come in good time.  She would soon acquire the habits and ways of her friends and acquaintances, without his trying to force upon her a series of affectations, which would only embarrass her and cloud the perfect frankness and spontaneity of her nature.  Of one thing he was quite assured—­that whatever mistakes Sheila might make in society they would never render her ridiculous.  Strangers might not know the absolute sincerity of her every word and act, which gave her a courage that had no fear of criticism, but they could at least see the simple grace and dignity of the girl, and that natural ease of manner which is beyond the reach of cultivation, being mainly the result of a thorough consciousness of honesty.  To burden her with rules and regulations of conduct would be to produce the very catastrophes he wished to avoid.  Where no attempt is made, failure is impossible; and he was meanwhile well content that Sheila should simply appear as Sheila, even although she might draw in a chair for a guest or so far forget her dignity as to pour out some wine for her husband.

“After all, Sheila,” said Lavender, “hadn’t I better begin and tell Ingram about your surprise and delight when you came near Oban and saw the tall hotels and the trees?  It was the trees, I think, that struck you most, because, you know, those in Lewis—­well, to tell the truth—­the fact is, the trees of Lewis—­as I was saying, the trees of Lewis are not just—­they cannot be said to be—­”