husband had told her that whenever she felt
uncertain of her where-abouts, if in the country, she was to ask for
the nearest station and get a train to London; if in town, she was to
get into a cab and give the driver her address. And, indeed, Sheila
had been so much agitated and perplexed during this afternoon that
she acted in a sort of mechanical fashion, and really escaped the
nervousness which otherwise would have attended the novel experience
of purchasing a ticket and of arranging about the carriage of a dog in
the break-van. Even now, when she found herself traveling alone, and
shortly to arrive at a part of London she had never seen, her crowding
thoughts and fancies were not about her own situation, but about the
reception she should receive from her husband. Would he be vexed
with her? Or pity her? Had he called with Mrs. Lorraine to take her
somewhere, and found her gone? Had he brought home some bachelor
friends to dinner, and been chagrined to find her not in the house?

It was getting dusk when the slow four-wheeler approached Sheila's
home. The hour for dinner had long gone by. Perhaps her husband had
gone away somewhere looking for her, and she would find the house
empty.

But Frank Lavender came to meet his wife in the hall, and said, "Where
have you been?"

She could not tell whether there was anger or kindness in his voice,
and she could not well see his face. She took his hand and went into
the dining-room, which was also dusk, and standing there told him all
her story.

"This is too bad, Sheila!" he said in a tone of deep vexation. "By
Jove! I'll go and thrash that dog within an inch of his life."

"No," she said, drawing herself up; and for one brief second--could he
but have seen her face--there was a touch of old Mackenzie's pride and
firmness about the ordinarily gentle lips. It was but for a second.
She cast down her eyes and said meekly, "I hope you won't do that,
Frank. The dog is not to blame. It was my fault."

"Well, really, Sheila," he said, "you are very thoughtless. I wish you
would take some little trouble to act as other women act, instead of
constantly putting yourself and me into the most awkward positions.
Suppose I had brought any one home to dinner, now? And what am I to
say to Ingram? for of course I went direct to his lodgings when I
discovered you were nowhere to be found. I fancied some mad freak had
taken you there; and I should not have been surprised. Indeed, I don