sinking in a great sea, and could utter but one despairing cry as she
saw the light disappear above her head. When they went in to dinner
she saw that Mr. Ingram's seat was on Mrs. Lorraine's right hand, and,
although she could hear him speak, as he was almost right opposite to
her, it seemed to her that his voice sounded as if it were far
away. The man who had taken her in was a tall, brown-whiskered and
faultlessly-dressed person who never spoke, so that she was allowed to
sit and listen to the conversation between Mrs. Lorraine and Ingram.
They appeared to be on excellent terms. You would have fancied
they had known each other for years. And as Sheila sat and saw how
preoccupied and pleased with his companion Mr. Ingram was, perhaps now
and again the bitter question arose to her mind whether this woman,
who had taken away her husband, was seeking to take away her friend
also. Sheila knew nothing of all that had happened within these past
few days. She knew only that she was alone, without either husband or
friend, and it seemed to her that this pale American girl had taken
both away from her.

Ingram was in one of his happiest moods, and was seeking to prove to
Mrs. Lorraine that this present dinner-party ought to be an especially
pleasant one. Everybody was going away somewhere, and of course she
must know that the expectation of traveling was much more delightful
than the reality of it. What could surpass the sense of freedom, of
power, of hope enjoyed by the happy folks who sat down to an open
atlas and began to sketch out routes for their coming holidays? Where
was he going? Oh, he was going to the North. Had Mrs. Lorraine never
seen Edinburgh Castle rising out of a gray fog, like the ghost of some
great building belonging to the times of Arthurian romance? Had she
never seen the northern twilights, and the awful gloom and wild colors
of Loch Coruisk and the Skye hills? There was no holiday-making so