She rose at once to fetch a shawl. When she appeared with it over her arm, her friend looked up with an annoyed expression on her face. "I knew you had gone for that, but I am not in the least cold. Who could be on such an evening? I wish you would not watch my every movement, Meg, in the way you do. It quite gets on my nerves." She ended her sentence with a slight laugh, but it did not hide the fact that she did not appreciate the attention that had been paid her. Meg looked contrite, and felt miserable. What could she have done to make Sheila in this mood? The girl sat down again feeling depressed, then suddenly she wondered why she should not ask outright what her offence had been. "I know I've vexed you," she said, leaning forward with her hands clasped on her knees, and looking remorsefully at Sheila. "I expect I didn't do the right thing this afternoon. I don't suppose I ought to have had up tea before you came home." "You were perfectly right. You could not have done anything else as Peter and Mr. Poynter had had that long walk, and it was so late. If it had been earlier of course you should have waited for me." "Then I don't think I ought to have stayed and talked to Mr. Fortescue. Was it not the proper thing to do?" Sheila flushed up angrily. Really, Meg was getting on her nerves. "What nonsense," she said shortly. "The natural thing is always the right thing to do." The tears welled up into Meg's eyes but they did not fall. Sheila rose and walked away leaving Meg looking sadly after her. A sudden fear knocked at the girl's heart. Was Sheila growing tired of her, did she want her to leave Friars Court? The very suspicion of such a thing was paralyzing. She sat quite still for a few minutes as if she had been struck. That night Miss Gregson, who was sitting by her bedroom window reading before preparing for bed, heard a knock, and the door opened to admit Sheila, who, throwing herself on the sofa with her hands clasped behind her head exclaimed— "Angel dear, I do hope you are not tired, for I simply must have a talk with you." Miss Gregson shut up her book and looked towards her visitor. There had been a time in her life when she had had hopes of being an artist and had indulged in absorbing dreams of her pictures hanging on the line at the Royal Academy. These dreams had gradually vanished like many another hope of her young days; but she still had great delight in beauty and was quick to see it when it came in her way. As she looked at Sheila she longed for her paint brush. The girl was wearing a soft pink silk, draped with ninon, low at the neck, on which gleamed a diamond pendant. She looked the picture of worldly prosperity, and Miss Gregson wondered what caused the shadow that lay in her eyes. She was soon to learn.