Then he hastened down to the house in which Sheila lived, and found that she and her father had just returned from visiting some exhibition. Mr. Mackenzie was not in the room.
“Sheila,” Ingram said, “what would you think of my getting married?”
Sheila looked up with a bright smile and said: “It would please me very much—it would be a great pleasure to me; and I have expected it for some time.”
“You have expected it?” he repeated, with a stare.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“Then you fancy you know—” he said, or rather stammered, in great embarrassment, when she interrupted him by saying,
“Oh yes, I think I know. When you came down every evening to tell me all the praises of Mrs. Lorraine, and how clever she was, and kind, I expected you would come some day with another message; and now I am very glad to hear it. You have changed all my opinions about her, and—”
Then she rose and took both his hands, and looked frankly into his face.
“And I do hope most sincerely you will be happy, my dear friend.”
Ingram was fairly taken aback at the consequences of his own imprudence. He had never dreamed for a moment that any one would have suspected such a thing; and he had thrown out the suggestion to Sheila almost as a jest, believing, of course, that it compromised no one. And here, before he had spoken a word to Mrs. Lorraine on the subject, he was being congratulated on his approaching marriage.