“You may laugh, but I assure you it was no laughing matter to me. Sheila, did you want to go off in that sudden fashion? Did you go of your own accord?”
He stopped suddenly and took her hand; she gave one swift upward glance, and then dropped her eyes.
“It was arranged for me,” she said.
“You did not want to go yourself?”
“No, not then. I was very angry about it. I had a great many wicked thoughts, which I was very much ashamed of afterwards, because it was such a good thing that I did go exactly at that time. It might just have been settled for me in the very best way possible.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ronald quickly.
“You know Oscar, my brother, fell ill of typhoid fever just as I got back. If it had not been for—for—that, I might not have been with him, and I don’t know what I should have done then.”
Ronald’s face cleared; for a moment he had looked anxious.
“I saw Oscar just now at the works,” he said. “I liked him very much indeed. You are not much alike, but there was something in his voice and expression which reminded me of you.”
“I wish I were more like Oscar,” said Sheila humbly. “He is much better than I shall ever be.”