This was not the first time she had been more or less vaguely pained by her husband’s attentions to this young American lady; and yet she would not admit to herself that he was any in the wrong. She would entertain no suspicion of him. She would have no jealousy in her heart, for how could jealousy exist with a perfect faith? And so she had repeatedly reasoned herself out of these tentative feelings, and resolved that she would do neither her husband nor Mrs. Lorraine the injustice of being vexed with them. So it was now. What more natural than that Frank should recommend to any one the duets of which he was particularly fond? What more natural than that this young lady should wish to show her appreciation of those songs by singing them? and who was to sing with her but he? Sheila would have no suspicion of either; and so she came down next morning determined to be very friendly with Mrs. Lorraine. But that forenoon another thing occurred which nearly broke down all her resolves. “Sheila,” said her husband, “I don’t think I ever asked you whether you rode?” “I used to ride many times at home,” she said. “But I suppose you’d rather not ride here,” he said. “Mrs. Lorraine and I propose to go out presently; you’ll be able to amuse yourself somehow till we come back.” Mrs. Lorraine had indeed gone to put on her habit, and her mother was with her. “I suppose I may go out,” said Sheila. “It is so very dull indoors, and Mrs. Kavanagh is afraid of the East wind, and she is not going out.” “Well, there’s no harm about your going out,” answered Lavender, “but I should have thought you’d have liked the comfort of watching the people pass, from the window.” She said nothing, but went off to her own room and dressed to go out. Why, she knew not, but she felt that she would rather not see her husband and Mrs. Lorraine start from the hotel-door. She stole down-stairs without going into the sitting-room, and then, going through the great hall and down the steps, found herself free and alone in Brighton.