of matters as they stood, and as he believed that Sheila
had half confessed to a special liking for his friend from the South,
what more fitting thing could he do than endeavor to place Lavender in
the most favorable light in her eyes? He began to talk of all the
brilliant and successful things the young man had done as fully as he
could before himself. He contrived to introduce pretty anecdotes of
Lavender's generosity; and there were plenty of these, for the young
fellow had never a thought of consequences if he was touched by a tale
of distress, and if he could help the sufferer either with his own or
any one else's money. Ingram talked of all their excursions together, in
Devonshire, in Brittany and elsewhere, to impress on Sheila how well he
knew his friend and how long their intimacy had lasted. At first the
girl was singularly reserved and silent, but somehow, as pleasant
recollections were multiplied, and as Lavender seemed to have been
always the associate and companion of this old friend of hers, some
brighter expression came into her face and she grew more interested.
Lavender, not knowing whether or not to take her decision of that
morning as final, and not wholly perceiving the aim of this kindly chat
on the part of his friend, began to see at least that Sheila was pleased
to hear the two men help out each other's stories about their pedestrian
excursions, and that she at last grew bold enough to look up and meet
his eyes in a timid fashion when she asked him a question.

So they drove along by the side of the sea, the level and well-made road
leading them through miles and miles of rough moorland, with here and
there a few huts or a sheepfold to break the monotony of the undulating
sky-line. Here and there, too, there were great cuttings of the
peat-moss, with a thin line of water in the foot of the deep black
trenches. Sometimes, again, they would escape altogether from any traces
of human habitation, and Duncan would grow excited in pointing out to
Miss Sheila the young grouse that had run off the road into the heather,
where they stood and eyed the passing carriage with anything but a
frightened air. And while Mackenzie hummed something resembling, but
very vaguely resembling, "Love in thine eyes sits beaming," and while
Ingram, in his quiet, desultory, and often sardonic fashion, amused the
young girl with stories of her lover's bravery and kindness and
dare-devil escapades, the merry trot of the horses