s a trifle embarrassed;
and that both of them had apparently forgotten her existence. Mrs.
Kavanagh was continually coming to Sheila and trying to coax her back
into the larger room, but in vain. She would rather not sing any more
that night. She liked to look at flowers. She was not tired at all,
and she had already seen those wonderful photographs about which
everybody was talking.

"Well, Sheila, how did you enjoy yourself?" said her husband as they
were driving home.

"I wish Mr. Ingram had been there," said Sheila.

"Ingram! He would not have stopped in the place five minutes, unless
he could play the part of Diogenes and say rude things to everybody
all round. Were you at all dull?"

"A little."

"Didn't somebody look after you?"

"Oh yes, many persons were very kind. But--but--"

"Well?"

"Nobody seemed to be better off than myself. They all seemed to be
wanting something to do; and I am sure they were all very glad to come
away."

"No, no, no, Sheila. That is only your fancy. You were not much
interested, that is evident; but you will get on better when you know
more of the people. You were a stranger--that is what disappointed
you--but you will not always be a stranger."

Sheila did not answer. Perhaps she contemplated with no great hope or
longing the possibility of her coming to like such a method of getting
through an evening. At all events, she looked forward with no great
pleasure to the chance of her having to become friends with Mrs.
Lorraine. All the way home Sheila was examining her own heart to try
to discover why such bitter feelings should be there. Surely that girl
was honest: there was honesty in her eyes. She had been most kind to
Sheila herself. And was there not at times, when she abandoned the
ways and speech of a woman of the world, a singular coy fascination
about her, that any man might be excused for yielding to, even as any
woman might yield to it? Sheila fought with herself, and resolved that
she would cast forth from her heart those harsh fancies and indignant
feelings that seemed to have established themselves there. She would
_not_ hate Mrs. Lorraine.

As for Lavender, what was he thinking of, now that he and his young
wife were driving home from their first experiment in society? He
had to confess to a certain sense of failure. His dreams had not been
realized. Every one who had spoken to him had conveyed to him, as
freely as good manners would admit, their congratula