"Oh yes, he did. He knew right enough I was going to London, though of course he didn't know no more than I did what places I should have to pass through."
"I doubt if he'll ever find you, Meg," said Sheila, devoutly hoping that this young man would not turn up.
"He'll come right enough," answered the girl with decision. "When Jem says a thing he does it, and he's ever so fond of me. He'll find his way somehow I reckon."
"Anyhow, he would scarcely recognise you now," said Sheila laughing.
Meg's face fell, it was a new idea.
"I think I'd best go back to my old clothes," she said, looking at the same time regretfully at her lovely dress.
"You can't," said her companion gleefully, "they're burnt."
Meg, who was surveying herself somewhat regretfully in the long glass, turned round suddenly upon her companion.
"Burnt!" she exclaimed fiercely. "How dare you burn my clothes? You shouldn't ought to have done it!"
The girl felt she had been trapped. Her ships had been burnt behind her. How could she ever return to her old life now, however much she wished to! Besides which she felt her clothes to be a part of her old familiar life—almost her friends—and the only property she possessed in the world, the very sight of the faded green skirt would have reminded her of the heather and bracken and the blue eyes of Jem. Her eyes filled with tears, but they were tears of rage.