ce of looking
again at the sea--of drinking in the freshness and light and color of
it--of renewing her old and intimate friendship with it that had been
broken off for so long by her stay in this city of perpetual houses
and still sunshine.

"You can tell her you will go when you see her to-night at Lady
Mary's. By the way, isn't it time for you to begin to dress?"

"Oh, Lady Mary's!" repeated Sheila mechanically, who had quite
forgotten about her engagement for that evening.

"Perhaps you are too tired to go," said her husband.

She was a little tired, in truth. But surely, just after her promises,
spoken and unspoken, some little effort was demanded of her; so she
bravely went to dress, and in about three-quarters of an hour was
ready to drive down to Curzon street. Her husband had never seen her
look so pleased before in going out to any party. He flattered himself
that his lecture had done her good. There was fair common sense in
what he had said, and although, doubtless, a girl's romanticism was
a pretty thing, it would have to yield to the actual requirements of
society. In time he should educate Sheila.

But he did not know what brightened the girl's face all that night,
and put a new life into the beautiful eyes, so that even those who
knew her best were struck by her singular beauty. It was the sea that
was coloring Sheila's eyes. The people around her, the glare of the
candles, the hum of talking, and the motion of certain groups dancing
over there in the middle of the throng,--all were faint and visionary,
for she was busily wondering what the sea would be like the next
morning, and what strange fancies would strike her when once more
she walked on sand and heard the roar of waves. That, indeed, was
the sound that was present in her ears while the music played and
the people murmured around her. Mrs. Lorraine talked to her, and was
surprised and amused to notice the eager fashion in which the girl
spoke of their journey of the next day. The gentleman who took her in
to supper found himself catechised about Brighton in a manner which
afforded him more occupation than enjoyment. And when Sheila drove
away from the house at two in the morning she declared to her husband
that she had enjoyed herself extremely, and he was glad to hear it;
and she was particularly kind to himself in getting him his slippers,
and fetching him that final cigarette which he always had on reaching
home; and then she went off to