“Yes, that is so,” she said. “There is no use in my going back to the same sort of life; it was not happiness for either of us, and to me it was misery. If I am to blame for it, that is only a misfortune.”
“But if you will not go back to him, Sheila,” her father said, “at least you will go back with me to Borva.”
“I cannot do that either,” said the girl, with the same quiet yet decisive manner.
Mr. Mackenzie rose with an impatient gesture and walked to the window. He did not know what to say. He was very well aware that when Sheila had resolved upon anything, she had thought it well over beforehand, and was not likely to change her mind. And yet the notion of his daughter living in lodgings in a strange town—her only companion a young girl who had never been in the place before—was vexatiously absurd.
“Sheila,” he said, “You will come to a better understanding about that. I suppose you wass afraid the people would wonder at your coming back alone. But they will know nothing about it. Mairi she is a very good lass; she will do anything you will ask of her; you hef no need to think she will carry stories. And every one wass thinking you will be coming to the Lewis this year, and it is ferry glad they will be to see you; and if the house at Borvapost hass not enough amusement for you after you hef been in a big town like this, you will live in Stornoway with some of our friends there, and you will come over to Borva when you please.”
“If I went up to the Lewis,” said Sheila, “do you think I could live anywhere but in Borva? It is not any amusements I will be thinking about. But I cannot go back to the Lewis alone.”
Her father saw how the pride of the girl had driven her to this decision, and saw, too, how useless it was for him to reason with her just at the present moment. Still, there was plenty of occasion here for the use of a little diplomacy merely to smooth the way for the reconciliation of husband and wife, and Mr. Mackenzie concluded in his own mind that it was far from injudicious to allow Sheila to convince herself that she bore part of the blame of this separation. For example, he now proposed that the discussion of the whole question be postponed for the present, and that Sheila should take him about London and show him all that she had learned; and he suggested that they should then and there get a hansom cab and drive to some exhibition or other.
“A hansom, papa?” said Sheila. “Mairi must go with us, you know.”
This was precisely what he had angled for, and he said, with a show of impatience, “Mairi! How can we take about Mairi to every place? Mairi is a ferry good lass—oh, yes—but she is a servant-lass.”
The words nearly stuck in his throat; and indeed had any other addressed such a phrase to one of his kith and kin there would have been an explosion of rage; but now he was determined to show to Sheila that her husband had some cause for objecting to this girl sitting down with his friends.