hotel with a sore heart and a downcast face.

"This is not like London, Frank?" she said, pretty nearly ready to cry
with disappointment.

"This? No. Well, it is like a part of London, certainly, but not the
part you will live in."

"But how can we live in the one place without passing the other and
being made miserable by it? There was no part of Oban like this."

"Why, you will live miles away from the docks and quays of London.
You might live for a lifetime in London without ever knowing it had a
harbor. Don't you be afraid, Sheila. You will live in a district where
there are far finer houses than any you saw in Oban, and far finer
trees; and within a few minutes' walk you will find great gardens and
parks, with lakes in them and wild-fowl, and you will be able to
teach the boys about how to set the helm and the sails when they are
launching their small boats."

"I should like that," said Sheila, with her face brightening.

"Perhaps you would like a boat yourself?"

"Yes," she said frankly. "If there were not many people there, we
might go out sometimes in the evening--"

Her husband laughed and took her hand: "You don't understand, Sheila.
The boats the boys have are little things a foot or two long--like the
one in your papa's bed-room in Borva. But many of the boys would be