How sweet and fresh the air was, even in Kensington, when Sheila, having dressed and come down stairs, and after having dutifully kissed Mrs. Lavender and bade her good-bye, went outside with her husband! It was like coming back to the light of day from inside the imaginary coffin in which she had fancied herself placed. A soft West wind was blowing over the Park, and a fairly clear sunlight shining on the May green of the trees. And then she hung on her husband’s arm, and she had him to speak to instead of the terrible old woman who talked about dying. And yet she hoped she had not offended Mrs. Lavender, for Frank’s sake. What he thought about the matter he prudently resolved to conceal. “Do you know that you have greatly pleased my aunt?” he said, without the least compunction. He knew that if he breathed the least hint about what had actually been said, any possibly amity between the two women would be rendered impossible forever. “Have I, really?” said Sheila, very much astonished, but never thinking for a moment of doubting anything said by her husband. “Oh, she likes you awfully,” he said, with an infinite coolness. “I am so glad!” said Sheila, with her face brightening. “I was so afraid, dear, I had offended her. She did not look pleased with me.” By this time they had got into a hansom, and were driving down to the South Kensington Museum. Lavender would have preferred going into the Park, but what if his aunt, in driving by, were to see them? He explained to Sheila the absolute necessity of his having to tell that fib about the four o’clock engagement; and when she heard described the drive in the closed brougham, which she had escaped, perhaps she was not so greatly inclined as she ought to have been to protest against that piece of wickedness. “Oh, yes, she likes you awfully,” he repeated, “and you must get to like her. Don’t be frightened at her harsh way of saying things; it is only a mannerism. She is really a kind-hearted woman, and would do anything for me. That’s her best feature, looking at her character from my point of view.” “How often must we go to see her?” asked Sheila. “Oh, not very often. But she will get up dinner parties, at which you will be introduced to batches of her friends. And then the best thing you can do is to put yourself under her instructions, and take her advice about your dress and such matters, just as you did about your hair. That was very good of you.” “I am glad you were pleased with me,” said Sheila. “I will do what I can to like her. But she must talk more respectfully of you.” Lavender laughed that little matter off as a joke, but it was no joke to Sheila. She would try to like that old woman--yes; her duty to her husband demanded that she should. But there are some things that a wife--especially a girl who has been newly made a wife--will never forget; which, on the contrary, she will remember with burning cheeks and anger and indignation. PART VI. CHAPTER XII.