“If you see our island on such a night as this, you will say it is the most beautiful place in the world. It is the Winter-time that is bad, when we have rain and mist for weeks together. But after this year I think we shall spend all the Winters in London, although my husband does not like to give up the shooting and boating; and that is very good amusement for him when he is tired with his work.”
“That island life certainly seems to agree with him,” said Mrs. Ingram, not daring even to hint that there was any further improvement in Sheila’s husband than that of mere health: “I have never seen him look so well and strong. I scarcely recognized him on the pier, he was so brown; and—and—and I think his sailor clothes suit him so well. They are a little rough, you know; indeed, I have been wondering whether you made them yourself.”
Sheila laughed: “I have seen you look at them. No, I did not make them. But the cloth, that was made on the island, and it is very good cloth whatever.”
“You see what a bad imitation of your costume I am compelled to wear. Edward would have it, you know. I think he’d like me to speak like you, if I could manage it.”
“Oh, no, I am sure he would not like that,” Sheila said, “for many a time he used to correct me; and when he first came to the island I was very much ashamed, and sometimes angry with him.”
“But I suppose you got accustomed to his putting everybody right?” said Mr. Ingram’s wife, with a smile.
“He was always a very good friend to me,” Sheila said, simply.
“Yes, and I think he is now,” said her companion, taking the girl’s hand and forcing herself to say something of that which lay at her heart, and which had been struggling for utterance during all this beating about the bush. “I am sure you could not have a better friend than he is; and if you only knew how pleased we both are to find you so well and so happy—”
Sheila saw the great embarrassment in her companion’s face, and she knew the good feeling that had driven her to this stammering confession. “It is very kind of you,” she said, gently. “I am very happy; yes, I do not think I have anything more to wish for in the world.”
There was no embarrassment in her manner as she made this simple avowal, her face was clear and calm in the moonlight, and her eyes were looking somewhat distantly at the sea and the island near. Her husband came forward with a light shawl and put it around her shoulders. She took his hand and for a moment pressed it to her lips. Then he went back to where Ingram and old Mackenzie were smoking, and the two women were left to their confidences. Mrs. Kavanagh had gone below.