"My dear child, ladies are not turned out."
"Well then I mean to help her to grow into a lady, is that better? She is trying hard to copy me, and it is quite touching to see what pains she takes in speaking. But come, I want you to talk to her," she added, as she led the way into the garden.
"By the by," said Peter, "has this young woman relations or friends who are likely to demand her?"
"I'll tell you about that another time," said Sheila as they came in sight of Meg.
The girl rose at the sound of their voices. She was wearing a tweed coat and skirt and white blouse, and as she stood under the chestnut tree, her auburn hair gleaming in the sunshine, Peter could not but confess to himself that she was extraordinarily pretty. There was no timidity about her; she looked him straight in the face with fearless eyes.
"You've chosen a lovely spot for your chair," said Peter.
"Yes," answered Meg, "it's just lovely. Them flowers are gorgeous in that bed there, I've seen none like 'em. The heather and the bracken is all I know about, you see."
"Then you know about something very beautiful," answered Peter. "There is nothing more lovely than heather and bracken. Even this garden does not come up to a Scotch moor."
"Yes," said Meg simply, "when the sun shines on it or the clouds pass over it, turning it all colours, the heather is just beautiful."
Sheila stood by delighted at the impression that she was convinced Meg was making on Peter. She was pleased too as she noticed that the girl was taking special pains to speak softly. Sheila had talked a great deal to her about her voice, and her words were evidently taking effect.