"What are you doing, Meg?" he said anxiously.
She turned swiftly to him. "Oh, Freddy, Michael wanted me. My dream was too real not to have some meaning. I couldn't bear it—I had to try to help him!"
"You were dreaming? You were in bed?"
"Yes, and sound asleep. Suddenly he called me. It was extraordinarily real." Meg put her hands up to her head as though it was tired.
"But you can't help him by standing out here. It's too chilly."
Meg shivered. "It is cold," she said wearily. "And I'm awfully tired."
Freddy linked his arm through his sister's. "Let's sit and talk together indoors, for a bit. Have a cigarette?"
Meg thanked him with tired eyes. Freddy put his hands on her shoulders as she sank into a deck-chair, and looked into her eyes. "No more visions, old girl?"
"No, Freddy, oh no, no vision." Meg spoke dreamily, absently, and with an exhaustion which worried her brother.
"Then why so tired?"