But if they saw nothing mystic or wonderful about Sheila, they, at all events, were considerably surprised by the strange sort of music she sang. It was not of a sort commonly heard in a London drawing-room. The pathos of its minor chords, its abrupt intervals, startling and wild in their effect, and the slowly subsiding wail in which it closed, did not much resemble the ordinary drawing-room “piece.” Here, at least, Sheila had produced an impression; and presently there was a heap of people around the piano, expressing their admiration, asking questions, and begging her to continue. But she rose. She would rather not sing just then. Whereupon Lavender came to her and said, “Sheila, won’t you sing that wild one about the farewell--that has the sound of the pipes in it, you know?” “Oh, yes,” she said directly. Lavender went back to his companion. “She is very obedient to you,” said Mrs. Lorraine, with a smile. “Yes, at present,” he said; and he thought meanly of himself for saying it, the moment the words were uttered: Oh, soft be thy slumbers, by Tigh na-linne’s waters; Thy late-wake was sung by Macdiarmid’s fair daughters; But far in Lochaber the true heart was weeping, Whose hopes are entombed in the grave where thou’rt sleeping. So Sheila sang, and it seemed to the people that this ballad was even more strange than its predecessor. When the song was over, Sheila seemed rather anxious to get out of the crowd, and, indeed, walked away into the conservatory to have a look at the flowers. Yes, Lavender had to confess to himself, Sheila was just like anybody else in this drawing-room. His sea-princess had produced no startling impression. He forgot that he had just been teaching her the necessity of observing the ways and customs of the people around her, so that she might avoid singularity. On one point, at least, she was resolved she would attend to his counsels; she would not make him ridiculous by any show of affection before the eyes of strangers. She did not go near him the whole evening. She remained for the most part in that half-conservatory, half-ante-room at the end of the drawing-room; and when any one talked to her she answered, and when she was left alone she turned to the flowers. All this time, however, she could observe that Lavender and Mrs. Lorraine were very much engrossed in their conversation; that she seemed very much amused, and he at times a trifle embarrassed; and that both of them had apparently forgotten her existence. Mrs. Kavanagh was continually coming to Sheila and trying to coax her back into the larger room, but in vain. She would rather not sing any more that night. She liked to look at the flowers. She was not tired at all, and she had already seen those wonderful photographs about which everybody was talking. “Well, Sheila, how did you enjoy yourself?” said her husband, as they were driving home. “I wish Mr. Ingram had been there,” said Sheila.