“The Tyrol?” said Mr. Mackenzie. “Ay, it is a ferry long way away, but if Sheila will care to go to the Tyrol—oh, yes, I will go to the Tyrol or anywhere if she will go out of London, for it is not good for a young girl to be always in the one house, and no company and no variety; and I was saying to Sheila what good will she do sitting by the window and thinking over things, and crying sometimes. By Kott, it is a foolish thing for a young girl and I will hef no more of it!”
In other circumstances Ingram would have laughed at this dreadful threat. Despite the frown on the old man’s face, the sudden stamp of his foot, and the vehemence of his words, Ingram knew that if Sheila had turned around and said that she wished to be shut up in a dark room for the rest of her life, the old King of Borva would have said: “Ferry well, Sheila,” in the meekest way, and would have been satisfied if only he could share her imprisonment with her.
“But first of all, Mr. Mackenzie, I have another proposal to make to you,” Ingram said, and then he urged upon Sheila’s father to accept Mrs. Lorraine’s invitation.
Mr. Mackenzie was nothing loth. Sheila was living by far too monotonous a life. He went over to the window to her and said, “Sheila, my lass, you was going nowhere else this evening; and it would be ferry convenient to go with Mr. Ingram, and he would see his friends away, and we could go to a theatre then. And it is no new thing for you to go to fine houses and see other people; but it is new to me, and you wass saying what a beautiful house it wass many a time, and I hef wished to see it. And the people are ferry kind, Sheila, to send me an invitation; and if they wass to come to the Lewis, what would you think if you asked them to come to your house and they paid no heed to it? Now, it is after four, Sheila, and if you wass to get ready now—”
“Yes, I will go and get ready, papa,” she said.
Ingram had a vague consciousness that he was taking Sheila up to introduce to her Mrs. Lorraine in a new character. Would Sheila look at the woman she used to fear and dislike in a wholly different fashion, and be prepared to adorn her with all the graces which he had so often described to her? Ingram hoped that Sheila would get to like Mrs. Lorraine, and that by-and-by a better acquaintance between them might lead to a warm and friendly intimacy. Somehow, he felt that if Sheila would betray such a liking—if she would come to him and say honestly that she was rejoiced he meant to marry—all his doubts would be cleared away. Sheila had already said pretty nearly as much as that, but then it followed what she understood to be an announcement of his approaching marriage, and, of course, the girl’s kindly nature at once suggested a few pretty speeches. Sheila now knew that nothing was settled; after looking at Mrs. Lorraine in the light of these new possibilities, would she come to him and counsel him to go on and challenge a decision?
Mr. Mackenzie received with a grave dignity and politeness the more than friendly welcome given him by both Mrs. Kavanagh and her daughter, and in view of their approaching tour he gave them to understand that he had himself established somewhat familiar relations with foreign countries by reason of his meeting with the ships and sailors hailing from those distant shores. He displayed a profound knowledge of the habits and customs and of the natural products of many remote lands, which were much farther afield than a little bit of inland Germany. He represented the island of Borva, indeed, as a sort of lighthouse from which you could survey pretty nearly all the countries of the world, and broadly hinted that, so far as insular prejudice being the fruit of living in such a place, a general intercourse with diverse peoples tended to widen the understanding and throw light on the various social experiments that had been made by the lawgivers, the philanthropists, the philosophers of the world.
It seemed to Sheila, as she sat and listened, that the pale, calm and clear-eyed young lady opposite her was not quite so self-possessed as usual. She seemed shy and a little self-conscious. Did she suspect that she was being observed, Sheila wondered? and the reason? When dinner was announced she took Sheila’s arm, and allowed Mr. Ingram to follow them, protesting, into the other room, but there was much more of embarrassment and timidity than of an audacious mischief in her look. She was very kind indeed to Sheila, but she had wholly abandoned that air of maternal patronage which she used to assume toward the girl. She seemed to wish to be more friendly and confidential with her, and indeed scarcely spoke a word to Ingram during dinner, so persistently did she talk to Sheila, who sat next her.
Ingram got vexed. “Mrs. Lorraine,” he said, “you seem to forget that this is a solemn occasion. You ask us to a farewell banquet, but instead of observing the proper ceremonies, you pass the time in talking about fancy work and music, and other ordinary, everyday trifles.”
“What are the ceremonies?” she said.