that it
could not be vented on any one. As Sheila had not spoken to Ingram--as
she had even nerved herself to wound him by passing him without notice
in the street--she could not be held responsible; and yet he wished
that he could have upbraided some one for this mischief that had been
done. Should he go straight down to Ingram's lodgings and have it
out with him? At first he was strongly inclined to do so, but wiser
counsels prevailed. Ingram had a keen and ready tongue, and a way of
saying things that made them rankle afterward in the memory. Besides,
he would go into court with a defective case. He could say nothing
unless Ingram admitted that he had tried to poison the mind of Mrs.
Lorraine against him; and of course if there was a quarrel, who would
be so foolish as to make such an admission? Ingram would laugh at
him, would refuse to admit or deny, would increase his anger without
affording him an opportunity of revenging himself.

Sheila could see that her husband was troubled, but could not divine
the cause, and had long ago given up any habit of inquiry. He ate his
dinner almost in silence, and then said he had to make a call on a
friend, and that he would perhaps drop in to the club on his way home,
so that she was not to sit up for him. She was not surprised or hurt
at the announcement. She was accustomed to spend her evenings alone.
She fetched down his cigar-case, put it in his top-coat pocket and
brought him the coat. Then he kissed her and went out.

But this evening, at least, she had; abundant occupation, and that
of a sufficiently pleasant kind. For some little time she had been
harboring in her mind a dark and mysterious plot, and she was glad
of an opportunity to think it out and arrange its details. Mairi was
coming to London, and she had carefully concealed the fact from her
husband. A little surprise of a dramatic sort was to be prepared for
him--with what result, who could tell? All of a sudden Lavender was
to be precipitated into the island of Lewis as nearly as that could be
imitated in a house at Notting Hill.

This was Sheila's scheme, and on these lonely evenings she could sit
by herself with much satisfaction and ponder over the little points
of it and its possible success. Mairi was coming to London under the
escort of a worthy Glasgow fishmonger whom Mr. Mackenzie knew. She
would arrive after Lavender had left for his studio. Then she and
Sheila would set to work to transform the smok