She looked round for a chair on which to sit, and found there was only one in the room, and that broken and moreover in want of a washing. Meg did not know what London smuts could do, nor that her kind friend was a constant scrubber and prided herself on her cleanliness.
It was only after they had sat down to a dinner of stew and potatoes that a ray of hope entered the girl's heart.
She told Mrs. Webb, for that was the widow's name, her story, and mentioned the fact that the only way in which she could hope to make a living was by her voice; singing at concerts or giving lessons.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mrs. Webb after hearing all that the girl had to say, "I'll go straight round to our clergyman and tell him that I've a rare singer along of me that 'ud be pleased to sing at the next Parish concert, and just ask his advice. I expect you'd get pupils when they've heard you, and you wouldn't mind singing for nothing would you now, if it was to lead to that."
The thought put a little hope into Meg, till, as she lay in her small hard bed at night, she suddenly remembered that there was no one to care if she sang well or not at the concert. Then tired out she fell asleep, and dreamt that she heard Sheila's voice saying eagerly—
"You won't disappoint me, Meg dear, will you?"
[CHAPTER XVIII]
SHEILA'S CONFESSION
To send for Peter was Sheila's first thought when she heard to her dismay that Meg had fled from Friars Court. Her heart had almost stopped beating when the news was brought to her. The look on Miss Gregson's face as they met at breakfast was one of deep anxiety and distress.
"Something must be done at once," she said in a firmer tone than that in which she usually spoke to Sheila.