Miss Gregson was coming to the decision that if Sheila parted with Meg, she herself would make a home for her. She knew it would mean the loss of much worldly comfort and ease; but Meg and she might find some work together, and she had her hardly earned savings to fall back upon. Anyhow she was determined that if Sheila was bent on carrying out the inhuman proposition which she had hinted to her, she would not be silent on the matter; and if she remained obdurate she would herself give up her post; sorry though she would be to leave the pupil, who, notwithstanding all her faults, was dear to her. Meg ate her breakfast, quite unconscious that plans concerning her were filling the minds of both her companions. After breakfast Sheila put on her gardening gloves and taking her basket and scissors passed out into the garden. Meg was about to follow when Miss Gregson called her back. The girl noticed that there was a pink flush on her face and that her eyes were bright. "My dear I would not go out into the garden just yet if I were you; Sheila is, as you see, feeling annoyed. Let her have time to work it off." The eagerness of the voice was born of the desire to delay what she knew was coming. Something might happen to prevent the catastrophe. Mr. Fortescue might call and give advice. Meg must, for as long as possible, be saved from meeting her fate. The girl looked up in surprise. "I want to explain," she said, "and to tell her how sorry I am. When she knows what made me so silly I think she will not be vexed but pleased." "Pleased?" "Yes. I think I did what Sheila would have wanted me to do." Miss Gregson put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Explain to me first," she said. "Did you lose your nerve?" "Yes. But not about singing. I wasn't a bit frightened of the people or that my voice would not please. It was something quite different. It was to do with Jem." Miss Gregson was mystified. "My dear, how could it have been to do with Jem. I don't understand." The girl's eyes filled with tears. "I scarcely like to tell you," she said, "it was so hateful of me. And yet I don't know that you would have advised me to do anything else. I remember you once told me you thought it might be right of me to run away from him." "You are talking enigmas. That young man you told me about could not possibly have been at the concert. You are dreaming, my dear." Miss Gregson began to wonder if the strain of the concert had been too much for the girl. "Jem was there," said Meg; "he was standing in among the trees of the plantation all the time, but I never saw him till I sang 'The Last Rose of Summer.' I wish, oh how I wish I had never sung it; I shall never sing it again as long as I live." "Are you sure you didn't imagine you saw him?" inquired Miss Gregson with concern.