Meg of the heather

by Evelyn R. Garratt

"I'm sorry," said Meg miserably.

"I wonder how you have been talking to Mr. Fortescue and his friend," continued Sheila severely, "and, by the bye, you must try and not look quite so eager during your conversations. It's scarcely the thing to show your feelings in the way that you do. People of the world in which you now live, do their utmost to hide emotion. When a girl looks with such extraordinary animation into the face of her companion as you were doing this afternoon, it attracts attention and makes one wonder what the conversation is about. What were you talking about?"

Meg was silent. If it had not been Sheila who was questioning her she would have been angry, but anger with Sheila was quite out of the question. Had not she done everything in the world for her? But for all that the girl was silent for a moment; not because she did not wish her companion to know what her conversation with Peter had been about, but because she found it difficult to explain herself.

They were sitting in the garden after dinner with their books, but neither of them had made much progress in their reading as both were busy with their thoughts. Sheila had forgotten her vexation with her protégé and was going over in her mind her conversation with Peter, when Meg interrupted her train of thought by her question. Now however that her companion had reminded her of the events of the afternoon her old feeling of vexation returned.

"I was telling Mr. Fortescue how ignorant I felt," said Meg.

"I almost think that you had better make those kind of confessions to me," said Sheila coldly. "We don't want to be constantly reminding people of our mistakes. The great thing, Meg, is to try with all your power to improve. Now at this concert that I am giving next month, do try and remember that it is far better to be silent than to forget your grammar and to use those terrible expressions."

Meg, who two years ago had been wishing to tame lions, was entirely shorn of her strength by the young girl beside her. She was conscious that in Sheila's presence she had no courage. A look of reproach or anger from her benefactor, though only a girl of twenty-one, was more appalling to her than the roar of a lion. She sometimes wondered at herself, as she remembered how in the old days the only thing she was in the least afraid of was her supposed father's stick, and even then she would never confess or show her fear. Now however the fear of disappointing her friend was so great that she lived a life of dread; and every day the feeling of nervousness increased.

When Sheila had first taken her up and showered gifts upon her Meg was much less afraid of her benefactress than she was now, and consequently was more natural in her behaviour. Everything she did then pleased her friend, who would constantly praise her for her efforts to break herself of little habits and expressions that belonged to her old life. Now Sheila seldom praised, and had grown much more critical; consequently her protégé had become nervous, and made many more mistakes than formerly.

As Sheila took up her book to read her companion followed her example, but both girls' thoughts were engaged with one another. Sheila was thinking how tiresome Meg was growing, and Meg was wondering what she had done to make Sheila speak and look so coldly at her. Did not she like her talking to Peter? Perhaps it was not the correct thing to do. The girl wished she knew more of the world and its ways: she was afraid that through ignorance she made endless mistakes, which must vex her friend who had done so much for her. It seemed to Meg that there was really no such thing as freedom in Sheila's world. There were evidently so many rules and regulations, about which she knew nothing, which could not fail to rob a person of her individuality. If only she might be herself and act without fear of making some terrible mistake.

The girl let her book fall on her knee and looked around at the lovely garden, feeling it for the moment to be a prison. Her old longing for freedom took possession of her. What would she not give to be out on the wide heath able to live her own life without let or hindrance! The scent of the heather and bracken seemed to be wafted to her. She closed her eyes in the hope of being better able to realise it, but instead of the wide heath there came the sound of the tap, tap of her 'father's' wooden leg, and she looked up quickly with a sense of gratitude that she was at Friars Court, protected from all the misery and evils that had surrounded her old life. And, after all, how she loved the place. What could she have been dreaming about to think for a moment that the heath was preferable. Meg looked gratefully at Sheila. She fancied she saw her shiver.