“Yes,” said Sheila, and it seemed to her that she was being suffocated. Would not the gray walls burst asunder and show her one glimpse of the blue sky before she sank into unconsciousness? The monotonous tones of this old woman’s voice sounded like the repetition of a psalm over a coffin. It was as if she was already shut out of life, and could only hear, in a vague way, the dismal words being chanted over her by the people in the other world. She rose, steadied herself for a moment by placing her hand on the back of the chair, and managed to say: “Mrs. Lavender, forgive me for one moment; I wish to speak to my husband.” She went to the door--Mrs. Lavender being too surprised to follow her--and made her way down stairs. She had seen the conservatory at the end of a certain passage. She reached it, and then she scarcely knew any more, except that her husband caught her in his arms as she cried: “Oh, Frank, Frank, take me away from this house! I am afraid; it terrifies me!” “Sheila, what on earth is the matter? Here, come out into the fresh air. By Jove, how pale you are! Will you have some water?” He could not get to understand thoroughly what had occurred. What he clearly did learn from Sheila’s disjointed and timid explanations was that there had been another “scene,” and he knew that of all things in the world his aunt hated “scenes” the worst. As soon as he saw that there was little the matter with Sheila beyond considerable mental perturbation, he could not help addressing some little remonstrance to her, and reminding her how necessary it was that she should not offend the old lady up-stairs. “You should not be so excitable, Sheila,” he said. “You take such exaggerated notions about things. I am sure my aunt meant nothing unkind. And what did you say when you came away?” “I said I wanted to see you. Are you angry with me?” “No, of course not. But then, you see, it is a little vexing just at this moment. Well, let us go up-stairs at once, and try to make up some excuse, like a good girl. Say you felt faint--anything.” “And you will come with me?” “Yes. Now do try, Sheila, to make friends with my aunt. She is not such a bad sort of creature as you seem to think. She’s been very kind to me--she’ll be very kind to you when she knows you more.” Fortunately no excuse was necessary, for Mrs. Lavender, in Sheila’s absence, had arrived at the conclusion that the girl’s temporary faintness was due to that piece of Roquefort. “You see, you must be careful,” she said, when they entered the room. “You are unaccustomed to a great many things you will like afterward.” “And the room is a little close,” said Lavender. “I don’t think so,” said his aunt, sharply; “look at the barometer.” “I didn’t mean for you and me, Aunt Caroline,” he said, “but for her. Sheila has been accustomed to live almost wholly in the open air.”