SHEILA IS NOT PLEASED
MEG was sitting under the chestnut tree preparing her lesson for Miss
Gregson. A tempting array of cakes and biscuits were on the table
before her, and Walter, the butler, was simply waiting for the return
of Sheila and Miss Gregson, who had driven into the town to shop and to
change the library books, to bring up the hot buttered toast and tea.
Meg was dressed in white, with a bunch of carnations at her waist.
Her auburn hair, picturesquely arranged at the back of her head, was
shining in the sunlight which came in patches through the leaves of the
tree.
She was so engrossed with her occupation that she did not see Peter
Fortescue approaching with a friend. They were close to her before she
looked up with a start to find them. Peter introduced his friend as Mr.
Poynter, and sat down by Meg's side.
"Now what were you so engrossed with I wonder so that our approach made
no impression upon you?" he asked.
Meg coloured. She was conscious that there were very few girls of her
age who would be occupied with such a simple lesson book; but though
she did not want Peter's friend to know what she was about, she was on
too intimate terms with Peter himself to mind, so put the book into his
hands with a little laugh.
Peter saw at a glance what it was, and smiled back.
"Where is Sheila?" he asked.
"She has gone to Elminster with Miss Gregson. I am expecting them back
every minute." Then she looked doubtfully at Peter. "Do you think it
would be right to have up tea before she comes? Or had we better wait?"
Meg never lost her anxiety to please her friend and to do the right
thing. Though Sheila was only three years older than herself and was
constantly telling her she must behave as if she belonged to the house,
the girl felt in awe of her benefactor and was not certain of her
approval if she attempted to do the natural thing at all times. So she
looked hesitatingly at Peter.
"Yes," he said, "let us have tea without waiting. It is long past five,
and my friend here is thirsty. Go and tell Walter."
Mr. Poynter wondered who the pretty girl could be. Peter had forgotten
to mention her to him, and her beauty had taken him by surprise. He
was still more surprised at a certain diffidence of manner that seemed
unnatural under the circumstances.
During the few minutes that they were left alone his wonder increased.
He could find no point of union whatever with the girl by his side. Meg
knew nothing of the world save that which she had seen while tramping
the lanes in company with Jem's uncle and aunt, and what she had learnt
during her two years at Friars Court, so that it seemed to Mr. Poynter
impossible to find a subject on which they could meet. Where could this
pretty girl have been educated, he wondered, or had she just emerged
from a convent?
They were both relieved when Peter made his appearance again. But even
then the conversation somehow flagged. Peter was anxious not to talk of
matters about which Meg knew nothing, and yet the kind of conversation
that as a rule he took part in with the girl was not such that would
interest his friend. He knew at once from the hopelessly perplexed
expression on Meg's face when they had got beyond her depth, or were
using words which had no meaning for her. So to keep up appearances,
and not to leave her out in the conversation, he would turn towards her
asking for her opinion, and when she hesitated, he would supply the
answer himself.
When Walter arrived with the tea, Meg looked at Peter hesitatingly.
"Had you better pour out or shall I?" she asked.
"You, by all means. You may be sure that I should make a muddle of it."
Mr. Poynter was amazed to notice with what nervousness the girl
performed her duty. So engaged was she over it that she listened no
more to the conversation, and Peter felt it was safe to indulge in a
subject in which he knew she would not be able to join. It turned on
the question as to which was the strongest factor in life, heredity or
environment. Suddenly Mr. Poynter turned round to the girl with the
question—
"Don't you agree with me that environment has a greater influence than
heredity?"
Meg coloured. She had no idea what the word environment meant. She
looked across at Peter, who smiled at her encouragingly.
"Don't answer that question," he said laughing. "He wants to get you
on his side, and then there will be two against one, that would not be
fair, would it? Come now you are forgetting, and are actually giving me
sugar? You ought to remember after what occurred at the picnic."
Meg looked her gratitude. She knew Peter had understood her appeal
for help and had got her purposely out of a difficulty. That was
like Peter. She had noticed that trait in him a hundred times. He
never liked to see anyone placed in an awkward position. Many a time
indeed he had come to her rescue when Sheila had felt it her duty to
administer a snub. But the question Mr. Poynter had asked had made her
nervous, and she nearly upset a teacup which she was handing across to
him, but which Peter rescued in time.
They were laughing over the averted catastrophe when Sheila and Miss
Gregson drove up to the house.
The former looked in astonishment at the group round the tea-table and
was not too pleased with what she saw. Peter had just discovered that
some tea had fallen on Meg's pretty dress and was drying it with his
pocket handkerchief amidst a good deal of laughter.
"What is Meg doing?" exclaimed Sheila to Miss Gregson. "She might at
least have waited to have tea till I returned. She is evidently acting
the hostess to Peter and a stranger."
Sheila quite forgot that she had many a time tried to impress upon Meg
that she was to consider herself, and to act, as her sister, and now
that the girl had obeyed her she was not altogether pleased.
Meg, just because she loved her so much, was at once conscious that
Sheila was displeased with her as she walked across the lawn towards
the group by the table. Her gaiety fled. Had she done wrong in having
up tea? Ought she to have waited? Or perhaps Peter after all should
have poured out. Of course being what she was she had no right to take
Sheila's place. The girl was perplexed and uncomfortable.
Peter introduced his friend to Sheila.
"I've heard of you," she said, "and Peter promised that the next time
you were at Nettlebrook he would bring you over." Then she looked at
Peter. "I'm glad you have had tea. Is it cold? Miss Gregson and I are
dying for it." She ignored Meg altogether.
"I think I heard that Walter was to bring some fresh tea when you
arrived, did I not?" said Peter looking towards Meg who had not as yet
learnt to hide her feelings and was sitting in a dejected attitude next
to Mr. Poynter. "We've not transgressed I hope in having it up before
you arrived, Sheila? But it is, you know, long past five, and Poynter
and I walked over from Nettlebrook and were impatient."
"Long passed five?" exclaimed Sheila. "I had no idea it was so late. I
am thankful that you did not wait. Ah here it is," then she looked at
Meg with a smile. "Pour it out please as you are near the teapot."
Peter noticed how Meg's whole expression of face changed. Once more she
was sunning herself in Sheila's smiles.
When after tea Sheila took Mr. Poynter to see the gardens, Meg sat down
by Peter and sighed.
"Oh! I feel so dreadfully ignorant. What does heredity and environment
mean?
"Heredity means the transmission or passing of characteristics of
parents to their children, and environment means surroundings. But you
need not feel uncomfortable about it. Poynter had no idea that you
failed to answer because you did not know what the words meant."
"But I feel so ignorant! I'm afraid I shall never be able to take my
place in Sheila's world as she hopes. Sometimes at meals when Miss
Gregson and she are talking I don't know what they mean by the things
they say."
"I hope you ask when you don't know? That is the only way to learn."
"I don't like to ask. It's a trouble to people if I do. I'm ignorant
you see about so many things. I've had hardly any schooling, as we were
continually on the move. I want to know such a lot of things." Then she
added after a pause, "What I want to know more than anything else, is
about God. Why is it that no one mentions Him?"
"Sometimes it is from cowardice."
"From cowardice! But how do you mean? If God is really what Miss
Gregson tells me He is, He is King of Kings. Why should people be
ashamed of mentioning Him?"
"It does seem strange certainly when one comes to think of it. But I
suppose it arises from the fact that in the world people are considered
somewhat peculiar who bring the subject of religion forward, and it is
always difficult to swim against the stream. I suppose, however, if one
runs it to its source, it is because there is so little true faith. If
people really believed in a God Who is the King of Kings they would
find no difficulty in mentioning His name. But one must remember too
that many a man is conscious that his life is not what it should be,
that he feels that he has no right to talk of God before others for
fear of bringing dishonour on His name."
Peter was silent for a moment then added, "I suppose one should also
take into account the difference of temperament. Some naturally speak
of things nearest to their hearts, while others are so reserved that
they feel their tongues tied when perhaps they are wishing to speak.
If a man really believes in God and loves Him and makes it his aim to
serve Him, God stands for more in his life than anything or anybody,
and if he is naturally reserved, he feels as if he cannot speak of his
faith, because it means so much to him."
"Does God mean all that to you?" asked Meg softly.
"Yes. I try to think that God stands for all that in my life."
"I am glad. You are the second person that I have met here who believes
in God. Does Sheila?"
"Surely, why should you doubt it?"
"Because she never mentions Him. And yet she talks about everyone else
she cares about."
Peter was silent. Meg's words had set him thinking. It was the first
time in his life that he had had this kind of conversation. Had anyone
else ventured to talk about the secrets of his soul to him he would
have shut him up at once. But Meg's simplicity, together with her
evident longing to know something about God, had been the means of
opening his mouth, and he was astonished to find how natural it had
been to talk to her on the subject, about which he had spoken to no
one since his confirmation, when he had learnt through the lips of his
vicar what God might be to him.
His reverie was broken in upon by Meg saying—
"I'm so glad I am getting to know a little more. I used to look up at
the stars at night and wonder all kinds of things, why I was I, and
what we were all here for. And I wondered if anything was beyond the
stars, and if the God, whose name I sometimes heard spoken in oaths,
was really anywhere. But I can't explain: do you understand what I
mean? I think Jem did, but he could only feel; I guess he could not
talk."
"Yes, I think I understand," answered Peter. Then after a pause he
asked, "Who was Jem?"
"Part of my old life; he was my very best friend. I know I once
mentioned God to him and he smiled at me. He could not say his thoughts
out aloud you know. He was slow in thinking and speaking. But I think
now, that God may have meant to Jem what He means to you. Although of
course he was not clever like you are, and would not have known so
much."
"Cleverness has nothing to do with the matter," said Peter.
"Hasn't it? I'm glad of that, for I feel to know nothing. Do I make a
very great many mistakes when I talk?" she added. "I want to pay Sheila
back for all she has done for me, by learning quickly what I ought to
know. Do tell me. Am I very unlike other girls in my behaviour or talk?"
"I think you are wonderful," said Peter. "Of course you make mistakes
sometimes, but they are becoming fewer and fewer."
"I'm so glad to think that. You see I have Sheila to copy, and that is
everything. I would do anything in the world for her—anything. When I
think of what she has done for me and the life she has saved me from, I
seem to want to do something great for her."
Meg's eyes were shining, as she bent forward eagerly to look at Peter.
"What can those two be talking about," thought Sheila as she suddenly
came in sight of them. For the second time this afternoon she was not
pleased. Meg seemed to her to be getting a little uppish. Had all the
luxury and good things that she had showered upon her begun to spoil
her? Anyhow Sheila was determined to put an end to that absorbing
conversation and so wafted Peter off to another part of the garden,
leaving Meg to entertain his friend as best she could.
"Well, how do you like Poynter?" asked Peter. "He was very anxious to
see you."
"He is quite nice. You must bring him over again if he stays long
enough. Will he be here next month?"
"No, he has to go next week."
"What a pity, as he could have come to my party and have heard the
singer who is to make her debut on that day."
"What party and what singer? I've heard nothing about it."
"No I have only just decided. Now, Peter, I want you to keep a secret
and to do all you can to help me. I've been longing to tell you about
my plan."
"Who is the singer and when is the concert to be?"
"On the twelfth of July. Now don't say you cannot come."
"That is the very day I am due at Plymouth."
"You mustn't go, that's all. You must put off your engagement whatever
it is."
"Why didn't you consult me before you fixed the date if you wanted me
to come?"
"I never wait for that kind of thing. Why, you know, Peter, I always
act on the spur of the moment; it is not in me to wait; and I have been
writing all the invitations this morning."
"I suppose then I shall have to give up Plymouth," said Peter with one
of his kind smiles.
"Of course you will, for I can't really change my day for that. I've
written already to engage the band, and my singer has booked the day.
You can't get a great singer to change her day just because one of the
audience wishes to go to Plymouth, can you?" Sheila laughed contentedly
now that she had won her point.
"And who is the singer?"
"Will you promise me to keep a secret? It is Meg. I have, as you know,
been giving her lessons and she is to make her debut at my garden
party. You don't seem half as surprised as I thought you would be."
Peter smiled.
"There! that's what I can't stand. You never will be taken by surprise.
It's most provoking of you. And if you smile at me again I shall
scream."
Peter laughed.
"What do you want me to do? I'll try to fall in with your wishes."
"Now don't be exasperating. I want you to say something. If you like
my plan say so. If you don't tell me why. Only I really can't stand
another wordless smile."
"I wonder why you object to my smile?"
"Because your smile so often covers your disapproval. I have found that
out. I would a hundred times rather that you spoke and let out."
"I like to think before I speak. My opinions are not formed like yours,
at motor speed. All the time, though it may be difficult for you to
believe, I am going through the pros and cons of the situation."
"Well, and what is your conclusion?"
"In the first place I should like to know what Meg thinks of the plan.
Does she approve?"
"Very much so; she is used to singing before people and has not an atom
of fear."
"Before people! Yes, but what people? Her audience at your garden party
will be scarcely of the same class as those to whom she was used to.
Does she realise what it will mean?"
"Yes, and really Meg is very nice. She assures me that even if she did
object she would make an effort for my sake. You see she is very fond
of me and knows she owes everything to me."
"Still I don't think she should be asked to make too great an effort;
however, from what you say she will not feel it to be an effort at all.
But are you sure that she is fitted for such an audience?"
"Fitted! Why, Peter, she has a glorious voice. And think of the lessons
I have given her. Of course she is fitted. You really must leave that
to me."
"You have not taken her to any parties as yet have you?"
"No. I waited till she was ready for it. People only know that I have
had a girl with me for the last two years, they know very little about
her. And I want her to be a surprise."
"You don't suppose, do you, that the circumstances of your adoption of
her is not known? My dear child we cannot live in this world without
our actions being criticised. Everyone knows about Meg, you may be
sure."
"Well, that will be all the more exciting. When they see her they will
never think that she is the one they have heard about. She really can
quite pass for a lady couldn't she?"
"Quite, as far as her looks go. And it certainly is wonderful how she
has copied you and adapted herself to her new environment. But let me
give you a hint my dear girl. Don't overawe her. That will give her
away at once. Even if she makes mistakes at your party take no notice
of them. Let her be natural; a person never shines if she is wondering
all the time if she is doing the right thing. You have no idea what
your approval means to Meg. She must forget you if she is to be a
success at your party."
"Must she?" said Sheila doubtfully.
"Yes, I am sure of it. I have been watching her this afternoon and have
been quite struck by the difference in her when you are near. When you
are away she is perfectly natural."
"I wonder if you are right," said Sheila ponderingly. "I've noticed
lately that she is more diffident than she used to be. It somehow
provokes me. Perhaps I nag at her too much."
"Don't nag, and don't try and tame her too much. Remember she is a girl
of the heather, a kind of wild bird. You have put her into a golden
cage, but don't take away all her freedom."
"But she makes such mistakes. I have to try and teach her the ways of
my world if she is to be treated as my sister."
Peter shook his head.
"Well anyhow," he said, "don't try and make her like yourself.
Imitations are always uninteresting and generally bad."