"That's right. We are expecting great things. Are you nervous?"
"No, I'm not nervous, I'm going to sing fine."
She was quite unconscious that she had relapsed into her old way of speaking. Happily Sheila who was to play her accompaniments was not within earshot.
Meg stood with her eyes raised to the sky and her hands clasped behind her for she knew her song by heart. No one seeing her for the first time could possibly have guessed that only two years ago she was sleeping under hedges, and was thankful if she could find a resting place in a barn or on straw.
Peter wondered if, when she opened her mouth to sing, her origin would be betrayed. He felt nervous for her and for Sheila, who, he saw was rather pale as she took her place at the piano. But the first few notes dissipated his fears; the tone was pure as a bird's, full and rich; and the singer, he was aware, was thinking entirely of the music so that the audience did not alarm her.
People looked at one another with amazement.
The fact that the singer at Sheila's party was to be none other than the girl who had been a tramp but two years ago had leaked out, and the audience were in a state of amused expectation as they waited for her. But when they caught sight of her moving slowly towards them, they came to the conclusion that the news they had heard could have no foundation whatever. This lovely girl in the pale sea green dress could certainly never have been a tramp; and as the first notes escaped her lips they sat in astonished silence. Such a voice had not been heard for many years round about Friars Court. Where could she have come from?
Sheila flushed with pleasure as her eyes caught Peter's. That he was pleased and surprised she saw at once, also that the audience was entranced.
Meg's song over she took refuge in the drawing-room. She was afraid of talking after Sheila's advice to be silent, but she felt strangely excited. She had pleased her friend and had surpassed herself. That her singing had given supreme satisfaction she could not doubt, and that this audience had appreciated her voice quite as much if not more than her former audiences used to do, she was well aware. She had been thankful too to find that even when she stood up before the fashionably dressed crowd, she was no more nervous than when she had stood on the chair in the kitchen that day, which now seemed so long ago. The feeling of elation of which she was conscious was not born of conceit, but simply of delight that she had satisfied those for whom she cared. Sheila and Peter were pleased, that was all that signified.
It seemed to her that only a few minutes had passed when Peter came to the drawing-room window telling her that they were waiting for another song.