But this business of carrying a message to Lavender was the most serious he had yet undertaken. He had to make sundry and solemn resolves to put a bold face on the matter at the outset, and declare that wild horses would not tear from him any further information. He feared the piteous appeals that might be made to him; the representations that, merely for the sake of an imprudent promise, he was delaying a reconciliation between these two until that might be impossible; the reasons that would be urged on him for considering Sheila’s welfare as paramount to his own scruples. He went through the interview as he foresaw it, a dozen times over, and constructed replies to each argument and entreaty. Of course, it would be simple enough to meet all Lavender’s demands with a simple “No,” but there are circumstances in which the heroic method of solving difficulties becomes a trifle inhuman. He had promised to dine with Lavender that evening at his club. When he went along to St. James’ Street at the appointed hour his host had not arrived. He walked for about ten minutes, and then Lavender appeared, haggard and worn out with fatigue. “I have heard nothing--I can hear nothing--I have been everywhere,” he said, leading the way at once into the dining-room. “I am sorry I have kept you waiting, Ingram.” They sat down at a small side table: there were few men in the club at this late season, so that they could talk freely enough when the waiter had come and gone. “Well, I have some news for you, Lavender,” Ingram said. “Do you know where she is?” said the other eagerly. “Yes.” “Where?” he almost called aloud in his anxiety. “Well,” Ingram said slowly, “she is in London, and she is very well; and you need have no anxiety about her.” “But where is she?” demanded Lavender, taking no heed of the waiter, who was standing by and uncorking a bottle. “I promised her not to tell you.” “You have spoken with her, then?” “Yes.” “What did she say? Where has she been? Good Heavens, Ingram! you don’t mean to say you are going to keep it a secret?” “Oh, no,” said the other; “I will tell you everything she said to me, if you like. Only I will not tell you where she is.” “I will not ask you,” said Lavender at once, “if she does not wish me to know. But you can tell me about herself? What was she looking like? Is Mairi with her?” “Yes, Mairi is with her. And, of course, she is looking a little troubled and pale, and so forth, but she is very well, I should think, and quite comfortably situated. She said I was to tell you that she was well, and that you need not be anxious.” “She sent a message to me?” “That is it.” “By Jove, Ingram! how can I ever thank you enough? I feel as glad just now as if she had really come home again. And how did you manage it?”