As he noticed the carriages and motor cars that continually passed him on their way to the party, the pain that was gnawing at his heart became almost unendurable. This then was Meg's world! These her friends! How could he ever hope for a return of the intimacy which had, in the old days, existed between them. He paced up and down the road outside the park trying to work off his feelings; then the strains of a band attracted him and leaping over a hedge he found himself in a small plantation from which he could obtain a distant view of the platform on the lawn. His eyes searched the crowd in vain for Meg. He felt sure she was not there or he would have seen her at once. Suddenly he caught sight of a lonely figure moving slowly across the grass. Meg wore a pale sea green dress made of a soft clinging material and a broad brimmed black hat trimmed with ostrich feathers. She was walking slowly, for remembering Sheila's words that it would be better for her to be silent than to talk ungrammatically, she had avoided the guests as much as possible, and did not wish to mingle with them till the time for singing had arrived. But Mademoiselle Margot, the violinist, whom Sheila had secured for the afternoon, had finished her solo and Meg knew that her time had come. As she drew near she looked at the audience before her; but her heart did not fail her in the least. She knew she was about to surprise them and was happy in that knowledge. There was hardly a familiar face among them, for Sheila had kept her somewhat close, not wishing her protégé to mix with others till her manner and voice were such that her own action in adopting her would be vindicated in the face of the world, for she was aware that in some quarters her action had been unfavourably criticised, and she intended that the concert should be a triumph. The only face that Meg recognized among the audience was that of Peter Fortescue, who came forward at the sight of her and handed her on to the platform. His kind smile was encouraging. "I mean to sing ever so well," she said in a soft voice, "just to pay back Sheila for all her goodness to me." "That's right. We are expecting great things. Are you nervous?" "No, I'm not nervous, I'm going to sing fine." She was quite unconscious that she had relapsed into her old way of speaking. Happily Sheila who was to play her accompaniments was not within earshot. Meg stood with her eyes raised to the sky and her hands clasped behind her for she knew her song by heart. No one seeing her for the first time could possibly have guessed that only two years ago she was sleeping under hedges, and was thankful if she could find a resting place in a barn or on straw.