“Which is Mr. Ingram?” asked Mrs. Lorraine, with considerable interest, for she had often heard Lavender speak of his friend. “Not that little man?”
“Yes,” said Lavender, coldly; he could have wished that Ingram had had some little more regard for appearances in so public a place as the main thoroughfare of Brighton.
“Won’t you stop and speak to him?” said Sheila, with great surprise.
“We are late already,” said her husband. “But if you would rather go back and speak to him than go on with us, you may.”
Sheila said nothing more; and so they drove on to the end of the Parade, where Lady Leveret held possession of a big white house with pillars, overlooking the broad street and the sea.
But next morning she said to him, “I suppose you will be riding with Mrs. Lorraine this morning?”
“I suppose so.”
“I should like to go and see Mr. Ingram, if he is still there,” she said.
“Ladies don’t generally call at hotels and ask to see gentlemen; but of course you don’t care for that.”
“I shall not go if you do not wish me.”