Aldith and Andrew thought the proposal a brilliant one; and though Meg had at first shaken her head decidedly, in the end she was prevailed upon, and promised faithfully to go.

They were to meet in a bush paddock adjoining the far one belonging to Misrule, to walk for about an hour, returning by half-past seven, before it grew dusk.

“I am going to ask you for something that day, Meg,” Andrew whispered just as they were parting.  “I wonder if I shall get it.”

Meg flushed in her nervous, conscious way, and wondered to herself for a moment whether he intended to ask for a lock of her hair, a thing Graham had already obtained from Aldith.

“What?” she said unwillingly.

“A kiss,” he whispered.

The next minute the others had joined them, and there was no chance for the indignant answer that trembled on her lips.  She had even to shake hands, to appear as if nothing had happened, and to part apparently good friends.

“Half-past six sharp, Marguerite.  I will never forgive you if you don’t come,” Aldith said, as they parted at her gate.

“I—­you—–­Oh, Aldith, I don’t see how I can come,” Meg faltered, the crimson in her cheeks again.  “I’ve never done anything like it before.  I’m sure it’s not right.”

But the curl, in Aldith’s lip made her ashamed of herself.

“You’re just twelve, Marguerite;” the young lady said calmly:  “you’re not a bit more than twelve.  You’d better get a roll again, and a picture-book with morals.  I’ll ask Andrew to buy you one and a bit of cord, too, to tie you in your high chair in the nursery.”

Such sarcasm was too much for Meg.  She promised hastily and unconditionally to be on the spot at the time mentioned, and fled away up the path to obey the summons of the wildly clanging tea-bell.

But for the two intervening days her secret hung upon her like a burden of guilt, and she longed inexpressibly for a confidante who would advise her what to do at this distressing issue.  Not Judy:  that young person was too downright, too sensible, too much of a child and a boy—­she would never dare to tell her anything of the sort.  She could fancy the scorn in her sister’s large clear eyes, the ringing laughter such a tale would evoke, the scathing, clever ridicule that would fall on her shrinking shoulders.  Not Esther:  her very position as stepmother precluded such an idea, and, besides that, the General’s gums were gradually disclosing wee white double pearls, and his health thereby was affected, and causing her too much anxiety to allow her, to notice Meg’s oppression of mind.