Sheila, of course, told her husband of the sum of money she owned, and for a long time it was a standing joke between them. He addressed her with much respect, and was careful to inform her of the fluctuations of the money-market. Sometimes he borrowed a sovereign of her, and never without giving her an I O U, which was faithfully reclaimed. But by and by she perceived that he grew less and less to like the mention of this money. Perhaps it resembled too closely the savings which the over-cautious folks about Borvapost would not entrust to a bank, but kept hid about their huts in the heel of a stocking. At all events, Sheila saw that her husband did not like her to go to this fund for her charities; and so the fifty pounds that her father had given her had lasted a long time. During this period of jubilation, in which she looked forward to touching her husband’s heart by an innocent little strategem, more frequent appeals were made to the drawer in which the treasure was locked up, so that, in the end, her private dowry was reduced to thirty pounds.
If Ingram could have but taken part in this plan of hers! The only regret that was mingled with her anticipations of a happier future concerned this faithful friend of hers, who seemed to have been cut off from them forever. And it soon became apparent to her that her husband, so far from inclining to forget the misunderstanding that had arisen between Ingram and himself, seemed to feel increased resentment, insomuch that she was most careful to avoid mentioning his name.
She was soon to meet him, however. Lavender was resolved that he would not appear to have retired from the field merely because Ingram had entered it. He would go to this dinner on the Tuesday evening, and Sheila would accompany him. First, he asked her. Much as she would have preferred not visiting these particular people, she cheerfully acquiesced; she was not going to be churlish or inconsiderate on the very eve of her dramatic coup. Then he went to Mrs. Lorraine, and said he had persuaded Sheila to come with him; and the young American lady and her mamma were good enough to say how glad they were she had come to this decision. They appeared to take it for granted that it was Sheila alone who had declined former invitations.
“Mr. Ingram will be there on Tuesday evening,” said Lavender to his wife.
“I was not aware he knew them,” said Sheila, remembering, indeed, how scrupulously Ingram had refused to know them.
“He has made their acquaintance for his own purposes, doubtless,” said Lavender. “I suppose he will appear in a frock-coat, with a bright blue tie, and he will say ‘Sir’ to the waiters when he does not understand them.”
“I thought you said Mr. Ingram belonged to a very good family,” said Sheila, quietly.
“That is so. But each man is responsible for his own manners; and as all the society he sees consists of a cat and some wooden pipes in a couple of dingy rooms in Sloane Street, you can’t expect him not to make an ass of himself.”
“I have never seen him make himself ridiculous; I do not think it possible,” said Sheila, with a certain precision of speech which Lavender had got to know meant much. “But that is a matter for himself. Perhaps you will tell me what I am to do when I meet him at Mrs. Kavanagh’s house.”
“Of course you must meet him as you would any one else, you know. If you don’t wish to speak to him, you need not do so. Saying ‘Good evening’ costs nothing.”