He got into a panic, and motored back to the Trents', arriving there just before dinner. Mrs. Trent, tired and cross after a wet picnic, had, of course, read Meg's note, thought it very casual of the girl and was justly incensed. On finding they knew no more of Meg's movements than he did himself, the man--one Walter Brooke--lost his head and confessed the truth to Mrs. Trent, who was much shocked and not a little frightened. Later in the evening she received a telegram from Jan announcing Meg's whereabouts. Jan had insisted on this, lest the Trents should suspect anything and wire to Major Morton. Mrs. Trent, quite naturally, refused to have anything further to do with Meg. She talked of serpents, and was very much upset. She wrote a dignified letter to Major Morton, explaining her reasons for Meg's dismissal. She also wrote to their relative among the weariful rich, through whom she had heard of Meg. Meg was more under a cloud than when she left Ribston Hall. But for Jan and Anthony she might have gone under altogether; but they took her down to Wren's End and kept guard over her. Anthony Ross dealt faithfully with the man, who went yachting at once. Meg recovered her poise, searched the advertisements of the scholastic papers industriously, and secured a post in a school for little boys, as Anthony forced his cousin Amelia to give her a testimonial. Here she worked hard and was a great success, for she could keep order, and that quality, where small boys are concerned, is much more valuable than learning. She stayed there for some years, and then her frail little ill-nourished body gave out, and she was gravely ill. When she recovered, she went as English governess to a rich German family in Bremen. The arrangement was only for one year, and at its termination she was free to offer to meet Jan and her charges. CHAPTER X PLANS "Now, chicks, this is London, the friendly town," Jan announced, as the taxi drove away from Charing Cross station. "Flendly little London, dirty little London," her niece rejoined, as she bounced up and down on Jan's knee. She had slept during the very good crossing and was full of conversation and ready to be pleased with all she saw. Tony was very quiet. He had suffered far more in the swift journey across France than during the whole of the voyage, and it was difficult to decide whether he or Ayah were the more extraordinary colour. Greenish-white and miserable he sat beside his aunt, silent and observing. "Here's dear old Piccadilly," Jan exclaimed, as the taxi turned out of St. James's Street. "Doesn't it look jolly in the sunshine?" Tony turned even greener than before, and gasped: "This! Piccadilly!" This not very wide street with shops and great houses towering above them, the endless streams of traffic in the road and on the crowded pavements!