"You ought not to watch me like that," she said with a smile. "But it
is the noise that is most bewildering. There are many places I will
know already when I see them, many places and things I have known in
pictures; but now the size of them, and the noise of carriages, and
the people always passing, and always different, always strangers,
so that you never see the same people any more--But I am getting very
much accustomed to it."

"You are trying very hard to get accustomed to it, any way, my good
girl," said her husband.

"You need not be in a hurry: you may begin to regret some day that you
have not a little of that feeling of wonder left," said Ingram. "But
you have not told me anything of what you think about London, and of
how you like it, and how you like your house, and what you have done
with Bras, and a thousand other things."

"I will tell you all that directly, when I have got for you some wine
and some biscuits."

"Sheila, you can ring for them," said her husband, but she had by that
time departed on her mission. Presently she returned, and waited upon
Ingram just as if she had been in her father's house in Borva, with
the gentlemen in a hurry to go out to the fishing, and herself the
only one who could serve them.

She put a small table close by the French window; she drew back the
curtains as far as they would go, to show the sunshine of a bright
forenoon in May lighting up the trees in the square and gleaming on