Sheila made no immediate reply; she was thinking how, but for Oscar’s illness, many things might have been vastly different, and with what sort of feelings she would have regarded a summons back to Madeira. “As for the Dumaresqs,” pursued Effie, “I never made any attempts to make up to them. That isn’t my way. I can have plenty of friends of my own sort; and some really very interesting people came who had travelled a lot, and were not just society people like the Dumaresqs. We thought them a little rough at first, but we got to like them very much. One of them admired me very much. I think he rather hoped—but I’m not that sort of girl, and he was going back to the Cape, so it was quite out of the question. I never was one for having a man always dangling after me. It bores me to death! But they talked so much of things they’d done and places they had seen or were going to see that papa got quite a travelling mania on, and so he sent for Cyril.” “And they have gone off together?” “Yes. It was very nice having Cyril, and we stayed a fortnight longer than we had meant, and took some excursions. After all, when I got Cyril again, I found I liked him a great deal better than all the rest of them put together. Don’t you think he has a very distinguished air?” Sheila’s admiration for Cyril was a thing quite of the past; she had regarded him of late with aversion and contempt. But she was learning to curb her tongue, and to try and rule her thoughts also, so after a little pause she said— “I think university men always have an air about them; but, of course, you know—about Cyril—and that it is not quite easy for me to admire him very much just now.” Effie flushed up a little. “Yes, of course, I know,” she answered. “Cyril told me himself. If he hadn’t, I don’t think I should have heard. Papa knows, but he has not told even mother. He thought it would be better put aside and forgotten.” “And Cyril told you himself?” “Yes. I think Cyril found it a great comfort to find somebody sympathetic and understanding. I’ve never set up for being a saint, and I have plenty of sympathy for sinners. I’ve always got on with Cyril. He knows more about me, I think, than anybody else. I don’t think him perfect—I’m not so silly. I’ve too much insight into character to make mistakes like that. But I can sympathise with him, and understand how he feels when other people don’t seem able to see anything but the other side of the question. I think healthy, robust people are often rather dull and dense. I’ve had lots of time to think. Cyril said I was so different from the rest of the world. I believe I was a great comfort to him.”