Sheila had never before seen the stern side of her cousin's character. She had always looked upon "dear old Peter," as she called him as the incarnation of gentleness and kindness. From her childhood she had been accustomed to run to him in her childish sorrows, knowing that however naughty she had been he would dry her tears and make her smile again. He had never failed her yet. And the girl was aware, that though Peter was showing this strange stern side of his character, he was not failing her now. She always respected those who dared to tell her the truth about herself, and Peter was pitiless in the way he held up before her her conduct towards Meg. Her conscience was now beginning to work, making her realise that the picture her cousin drew of her was a true one. It depressed her dreadfully. Miss Gregson, as she sat one day in the drawing-room knitting and thinking, saw Sheila enter and sink down into one of the large comfortable armchairs with a book in her hand. The girl was looking depressed and unlike herself. For a long time she read silently, the distressed pucker of her forehead showing that it was not the usual novel in which she was so engrossed but some book that evidently surprised and worried her. Miss Gregson watched furtively. At last noticing very evident emotion depicted on Sheila's face she said: "What is that book, my dear, that you are so interested in?" Sheila held it up for her to see the title. "It's rather a sad book isn't it?" remarked Miss Gregson. She had not read it, but the title proved to her that it depicted life among the poor in its darkest colours. "Yes, it's a dreadful book, full of horrors and misery." "Then why read it?" "Because you see, Angel," said the girl letting it drop on to her knee, "I've been living in a false world. Peter says I ought to know something of the life of those less favoured than I am. I expect he's quite right. I haven't known and I haven't cared. If I had," she added, her voice trembling, "things would have been different." "What things, and how different?" Sheila was silent, biting her lips. She was trying to keep down the bitter tears remorse was causing. She did not want Angel to know how terribly guilty she felt herself to be. After a moment in which she recovered herself, she said in a low voice:— "I'm thinking about poor Meg." "Ah!" said Miss Gregson, a feeling of thankfulness taking possession of her. "I've been kept in ignorance of things I ought to have known," said the girl bitterly. "Peter says at my age it's disgraceful that I am so ignorant of the sufferings and sorrows of my sisters, as he calls them, and advised me to get hold of some literature on the subject so as to get enlightened. I found this in the library. Why have you never tried to tell me that I was living in a false world?" she demanded. "My dear, I have tried, but you always—"