ursting into the room of his
friend, "do you know that I have seen your princess from the island
of the Atlantic? Yes, I met her yesterday, and I went up to the house,
and I dined there and spent all the evening there."

Ingram was not surprised, nor, apparently, much interested. He was
cutting open the leaves of a quarterly review, and a freshly-filled
pipe lay on the table beside him. A fire had been lit, for the
evenings were getting chill occasionally; the shutters were shut;
there was some whisky on the table; so that this small apartment
seemed to have its share of bachelors' comforts.

"Well," said Ingram quietly, "did you play for her?"

"Yes."

"And sing for her too?"

"Yes."

"Did you play and sing your very best for her?"

"Yes, I did. But I have not told you half yet. This afternoon I went
up, and she went out for a walk with me; and we went down through
Kensington Gardens, and all round by the Serpentine--"

"Did she go into that parade of people?" said Ingram, looking up with
some surprise.

"No," said the lad, looking rather crestfallen, for he would have
liked to show off Sheila to some of his friends, "she would not go:
she preferred to watch the small boats on the Serpentine; and she was
very kind, too, in speaking to the children, and helping them with
their boats, although some people stared at her. And what is more than
all these things, to-morrow night she comes with me to a concert in
the St. James's Hall--yes."

"You are very fortunate," said Ingram with a smile, for he was well
pleased to hear that Sheila had taken a fancy to the boy, and was
likely to find his society amusing. "But you have not told me yet what
you think of her."

"What I think of her?" said the lad, pausing in a bewildered way, as
if he could find no words to express his opinion of Sheila. And then
he said, suddenly, "I think she is like the Mother of God."

"You irreverent young rascal!" said Ingram, lighting his pipe, "how
dare you say such a thing?"

"I mean in the pictures--in the tall pictures you see in some
churches abroad, far up in a half-darkness. She has the same sweet,
compassionate look, and her eyes are sometimes a little sad; and when
she speaks to you, you think you have known her for a long time, and
that she wishes to be very kind to you. But she is not a princess
at all, as you told me. I expected to find her grand, haughty,
willful--yes; but she is much too friendly for that; and when she