When she went into the drawing-room her first glance round was
for him, and he was the first person whom she saw; for, instead of
withdrawing into a corner to make one neighbor the victim of his
shyness, or concealing his embarrassment in studying the photographic
albums, Mr. Ingram was coolly standing on the hearth-rug, with both
hands in his trousers pockets, while he was engaged in giving the
American judge a great deal of authoritative information about
America. The judge was a tall, fair, stout, good-natured man, fond
of joking and a good dinner, and he was content at this moment to sit
quietly in an easy-chair, with a pleasant smile on his face, and be
lectured about his own country by this sallow little man, whom he took
to be a professor of modern history at some college or other.

Ingram, as soon as he found that Sheila was in the room, relieved her
from any doubt as to his intentions. He merely came forward, shook
hands with her, and said, "How do you do, Mrs. Lavender?" and went
back to the judge. She might have been an acquaintance of yesterday or
a friend of twenty years' standing: no one could tell by his manner.
As for Sheila, she parted with his hand reluctantly. She tried to
look, too, what she dared not say; but whatever of regret and kindness
and assurance of friendship was in her eyes he did not see. He
scarcely glanced at her face: he went off at once, and plunged again
into the Cincinnati Convention.

Mrs. Kavanagh and Mrs. Lorraine were exceedingly and almost
obtrusively kind to her, but she scarcely heard what they said to her.
It seemed so strange and so sad to her that her old friend should be
standing near her, and she so far removed from him that she dared not
go and speak to him. She could not understand it sometimes: everything
around her seemed to get confused, until she felt as if she were