"It's a case of stage fright," whispered a man to a girl sitting next to him. "She'll recover in a moment."
But Meg stood panic stricken, as she watched a young man vaulting the wire fence that divided the trees from the garden and making his way hastily towards her, his fierce blue eyes blazing in the sunshine and his tanned face radiant.
Before the audience had had time to recover from their surprise the song had suddenly ceased and the singer had fled.
Peter, who could not bear to see any living creature in pain, waited for a moment to see if Sheila was following Meg, and finding that she evidently had not thought of doing so, and, in fact, was trying to do what she could to make excuses for her to her guests, he went after the girl himself.
He found her sobbing on the library sofa.
"What is it?" he asked kindly. "Are you feeling faint?"
But Meg was too overcome to answer. Her face was hidden in the cushion as she tried hard to stifle her sobs.
"You sang so wonderfully well," said Peter. "You needn't mind in the least breaking down over 'The Last Rose of Summer.' Everyone will understand."
"Sheila won't," sobbed Meg almost incoherently.
"Of course she will. Your beautiful singing at the beginning ought to more than make up for it."