on a brougham
that was driving past. In it--she beheld them both clearly for a brief
second--were her husband and Mrs. Lorraine, so engaged in conversation
that neither of them saw her. Sheila stood on the pavement for a
couple of minutes absolutely bewildered. All sorts of wild fancies and
recollections came crowding in upon her--reasons why her husband was
unwilling that she should visit his studio, why Mrs. Lorraine never
called on her, and so forth and so forth. She did not know what to
think for a time; but presently all this tumult was stilled, and she
had resolved her doubts and made up her mind as to what she should do.
She would not suspect her husband--that was the one sweet security
to which she clung. He had made use of no duplicity: if there were
duplicity in the case at all, he could not be the author of it. The
reasons for his having of late left her so much alone were the true
reasons. And if this Mrs. Lorraine should amuse him and interest him,
who ought to grudge him this break in the monotony of his work? Sheila
knew that she herself disliked going to those fashionable gatherings
to which Mrs. Lorraine went, and to which Lavender had been accustomed
to go before he was married. How could she expect him to give up all
his old habits and pleasures for her sake? She would be more generous.
It was her own fault that she was not a better companion for him; and
was it for her, then, to think hardly of him because he went to the
Park with a friend instead of going alone?

Yet there was a great bitterness and grief in her heart as she turned
and walked on. She spoke no more to the deer-hound by her side. There
seemed to be less sunlight in the air, and the people and carriages
passing were hardly so busy and cheerful and interesting as they had
been. But all the same, she would go to Richmond Park, and by herself;
for what was the use in calling in at the studio? and how could she go
back home and sit in the house, knowing that her husband was away at
some flower-show or morning concert, or some such thing, with that
young American lady?

She knew no other road to Richmond than that by which they had driven
shortly after her arrival in London; and so it was that she went down
and over Hammersmith Bridge, and round by Mortlake, and so on by East
Sheen. The road seemed terribly long. She was an excellent walker,
and in ordinary circumstances would have done the distance without
fatigue; but when at length she