"He was my pal—I mean," she added hastily, "my friend."
Sheila coloured with vexation at the unlucky word that had slipped out so naturally from Meg's lips, notwithstanding all her lectures; but she did not interrupt the girl, as she was anxious to hear what the dream was about.
"I was in the cage with Bostock's lions," continued Meg, still looking away from her companions, "when I caught sight of a face that I knew. It was Jem's face."
"Well?" questioned Sheila. She was feeling irritated with the girl for recalling those old days. She wanted them to be forgotten. But she was curious also as to the end of the dream. "Well?" she asked.
But Meg's tears began to fall, and knowing how Sheila disliked want of self-control she left the room.
Miss Gregson rose to follow her.
"Don't go," said Sheila irritably. "I can't think why she should be so stupid as to mind a dream about those horrid people. They are nothing to her now and never will be. Besides, she ought to have learnt by this time to control herself. If I have told her once I have told her a dozen times that she must never show her feelings in that way."
But Miss Gregson, though she considered Sheila's wishes at the time, before long found an opportunity to knock at Meg's door. The girl was sitting by the table, her face hidden in her folded arms. She looked up as Miss Gregson came in.
"What is it, my dear, that is troubling you?" she asked.
"It's Jem," she sobbed.