And on this fresh and pleasant morning Sheila sat in the big garden
seat in front of the house, talking to the stranger to whom she had
been introduced the day before. He was no more a stranger, however, to
all appearance, for what could be more frank and friendly than their
conversation, or more bright and winning than the smile with which
she frequently turned to speak or to listen? Of course this stranger
could not be her friend as Mr. Ingram was--that was impossible. But
he talked a great deal more than Mr. Ingram, and was apparently more
anxious to please and be pleased; and indeed was altogether very
winning and courteous and pleasant in his ways. Beyond this vague
impression, Sheila ventured upon no further comparison between the
two men. If her older friend had been down, she would doubtless have
preferred talking to him about all that had happened in the island
since his last visit; but here was this newer friend thrown, as it
were, upon her hospitality, and eager, with a most respectful and yet
simple and friendly interest, to be taught all that Ingram already
knew. Was he not, too, in mere appearance like one of the princes
she had read of in many an ancient ballad--tall and handsome and
yellow-haired, fit to have come sailing over the sea, with a dozen
merry comrades, to carry off some sea-king's daughter to be his bride?
Sheila began to regret that the young man knew so little about the sea
and the northern islands and those old-time stories; but then he was
very anxious to learn.

"You must say _Mach-Klyoda_ instead of Macleod," she was saying
to him, "if you like _Styornoway_ better than Stornoway. It is the
Gaelic, that is all."

"Oh, it is ever so much prettier," said young Lavender with a quite
genuine enthusiasm in his face, not altogether begotten of the letter