ruined his chances in life. His
lady friends, however, were much more sympathetic. There was a dash of
romance in the story; and would not the Highland girl be a curiosity
for a little while after she came to town? Was she like any of the
pictures Mr. Lavender had hanging up in his rooms? Had he not even a
sketch of her? An artist, and yet not have a portrait of the girl he
had chosen to marry? Lavender had no portrait of Sheila to show. Some
little photographs he had he kept for his own pocket-book, while in
vain had he tried to get some sketch or picture that would convey to
the little world of his friends and acquaintances some notion of his
future bride. They were left to draw on their imagination for some
presentiment of the coming princess.

He told Mrs. Lavender, of course. She said little, but sent for Edward
Ingram. Him she questioned in a cautious, close and yet apparently
indifferent way, and then merely said that Frank was very impetuous,
that it was a pity he had resolved on marrying out of his own sphere
of life, but that she hoped the young lady from the Highlands would
prove a good wife to him.

"I hope he will prove a good husband to her," said Ingram with unusual
sharpness.

"Frank is very impetuous." That was all Mrs. Lavender would say.

By and by, as the spring drew on and the time of the marriage was
coming nearer, the important business of taking and furnishing a house
for Sheila's reception occupied the attention of the young man from
morning till night. He had been somewhat disappointed at the cold
fashion in which his aunt looked upon his choice, admitting everything
he had to say in praise of Sheila, but never expressing any approval
of his conduct or hope about the future; but now she showed herself
most amiably and generously disposed. She supplied the young man with
abundant funds wherewith to furnish the house according to his own
fancy. It was a small place, fronting a somewhat commonplace square in
Notting Hill, but it was to be a miracle of artistic adornment inside.
He tortured himself for days over rival shades and hues; he drew
designs for the chairs; he himself painted a good deal of paneling;,
and, in short, gave up his whole time to making Sheila's future home
beautiful. His aunt regarded these preparations with little interest,
but she certainly gave her nephew ample means to indulge the
eccentricities of his fancy.

"Isn't she a dear old lady?" said Lavender one night to I