Meggie quickly grew to look forward to her practices with Graham every other day. He was charming and witty to speak to, and he truly seemed to enjoy her company. He never mentioned Samantha's name, leaving Meggie to conclude that the other girl had been greatly exaggerating when she claimed they were seeing each other.

Despite Graham's good looks and good connections (Mr. Blair Giraud was son of Sara Giraud nee Stanley, the famous actress), he wasn't a bit proud. The only times Meggie even remembered from what very different worlds they came were when he would casually mention something about, "Ah yes, that was the summer we were visiting Grandam in France," or "My little sister Sally is getting quite spoiled—Father bought her a pony for her last birthday, and she's already asking for another!"

Meggie couldn't quite imagine "jaunting" over to Europe to visit family, nor getting a pony at age four. Still, she liked Graham enormously, especially as he never made her feel like an ignorant country mouse, as Samantha continued to do.

"Oh really, darling, you're not going to wear that out, are you?" Samantha asked amusedly one afternoon as the foursome (plus Connie) was preparing to go to the movies.

"What's wrong with it?" Meggie asked, looking down at her simple spring coat. It was old, certainly, but still in very good condition.

"Dear child, it's at least three years out of date. Don't you have anything newer?"

Before Meggie could answer, Rose laughed. "Who cares about that? There's a war going on, Sammy. Aren't we all being encouraged to make do with what we have?"

Samantha sniffed. "Yes, but we don't need to look shabby."

Meggie really didn't care what Samantha thought about her fashion sense, but at the word "shabby" Connie flinched. She was dreadfully poor, and all of her clothes were second-hand and ill-made.

"What a person wears doesn't matter," Meggie said, slipping her arm through Connie's and walking out the door casually. "It's how you treat people that's important."

Samantha's light trill of laughter floated down the hallway after them. "You funny little thing!" she said.

Connie shook her head. "I know Rose has a heart big enough to love everyone in Toronto and Boston combined, but I don't see how she can put up with that silly twit."

And Meggie, though she would not say so aloud, could not help but agree.

"Never mind, girls," Merrill said quietly. She was walking just behind them, leaving Rose and Samantha to bring up the rear. "We have more to worry about than one annoying person."

Meggie reached back and looped her other arm through Merrill's, drawing the girl forward to walk in step with her and Connie. "You're right, of course. When our brothers and cousins and friends are over fighting for freedom, one annoying roommate does become insignificant."

Connie sighed. "You're both right—but it doesn't make it any easier when people make fun of me because of how I dress. I'd love to be able to dress like Samantha does—or even you two, who may not look as sophisticated as she does but at least have neat and clean clothing—but I simply cannot afford it, not if I want to continue through school. I try not to let it bother me, but sometimes …" she trailed off with a sigh.

Meggie squeezed her chum's arm. She wished she could do something to help. Unfortunately, a farmer's daughter did not have loads of money to spend on frivolities, any more than a poor scholarship student. Meggie wasn't poor, by any stretch of the imagination, but she was nowhere near as wealthy as, say, Graham Giraud, either.

"You always look well turned out," Connie continued to Merrill. "How do you manage it?"

Merrill smiled. "I like to sew, and with three older sisters I have plenty of cast-offs with which to work. I can take two of their dresses, rip them up, and use the fabric to make a completely new outfit for myself."

Connie sighed. "It must be nice to be talented in that direction. I'm a perfect dunce with a needle; I couldn't remake my wardrobe to save my life."

"I'll help you," Merrill offered. "This weekend, we can go through your clothes and see what we can do to make them up into some nicer outfits."

Connie beamed. "Merrill, you're a darling! If I ever get the chance to do something nice for you, I promise, I will."

"I'll help, too," Meggie said. "I'm not as good at sewing as Merrill, but I can do any plain seams that need stitching."

Connie sighed. "It's so nice to have friends."

It was nice, Meggie thought. She had never had many friends outside her own family. She never thought she'd meet anyone she liked as well as her cousins, but her world had expanded greatly, and now she couldn't imagine her life without Rose, Merrill, and Connie. She suppressed a sigh at the thought of leaving in a few months.

She didn't know why it was such a gloomy idea—she ought to be thrilled about going home! So she was, to a certain extent—but oh, she couldn't deny that Avonlea seems awfully flat and stale compared to school.

She knew that if she asked Papa to let her stay for another year, he would agree. But then she thought about how much she missed him, and how hard it must be for him, all alone at Green Gables … she couldn't bring herself to ask. She couldn't be so selfish as to stay, just for her own pleasure. If she wasn't going to use an education, then it was a waste of her time and Grandmama's money to stay.

Would she use it, though? That was the question that was currently plaguing her. Was she really going to be content to stay and keep house for Papa for the rest of her life, like she had planned when she was a little girl, or did she want to do something more?

She didn't know—but she was glad to stop thinking about it and settle back to watch Cary Grant charm everyone in His Girl Friday.

A girl would have to be bleak indeed to not find Cary Grant cheering.

My dearest Meggie,

How are you, darling? Have you made many friends at school? I was delighted to hear that you are roommates with Rose Greye—the Greyes are some of the best people in Boston. Your grandfather and I have tea with the Greyes (your Rose's grandparents, naturally) every month. From all they say, she sounds a most charming girl, and a delightful friend for you to have.

Have you thought at all about whether you would like to return to school next year? I know we agreed on only one year, but if you like it there, your grandfather and I want you to feel free to stay. I won't force you into this, my dear—ultimately, I just want you to be happy—but I also want to be sure you've thought this through.

Your poor dear Mama's health was always very frail, even when she was your age. We had governesses and tutors in our house for her, but we were never able to give her the kind of education she wanted. She loved music as much as you do, dear Meggie, but her lungs were always too weak to allow her to develop her gift. She would get so tired, poor thing, just from sitting at the piano trying to practice. I really would have to force her to rest from it.

She was so fond of literature and poetry, too; she and your grandfather used to discuss such things by the hour. Again, I had to break their tête-à-têtes up many evenings, or my dearest Cecily would stay up far too late and overtax her strength.

I am not saying any of this to coerce you into staying at school, Meggie. I just want you to understand why it is so important to me that you have the opportunity for an education. I want to give to my beloved grandchildren what I could not give to my daughter.

Let me know what you decide. Your grandfather and I will love you and be proud of you no matter what.

With all my fondest love,

Grandmama Irving.

Meggie watched Matty's face as he finished reading her letter. The twins were at a tiny little café almost exactly halfway between their two schools. Ever since Uncle Ken left, and Aunt Rilla and the younger cousins had moved back to the House of Dreams, Meggie and Matty had taken to meeting at the café on Saturday morning for breakfast, followed by a long walk around the park. It wasn't much, but it was the best they could do.

"I had a letter from Grandmama, too," Matty said, setting the letter down on the table. "Same sort of thing—she didn't want to force me into staying at school, but it was important to her that I have the chance Mama didn't have … a lot of drivel about how sad Mama's life was."

"Drivel! Oh, Matty!" Meggie cried, half-laughing, half-horrified.

He grinned sheepishly. He had started to grow taller, though he would never be as tall as Peter or Blythe, and just in the last month, his voice had started cracking. The twins looked less alike than they ever had, but their hearts were as similar as ever.

"I shouldn't say that. I know Grandmama loved Mama, but I think that she smothered her. From the way everyone else talks about her—Grandfather, Auntie Di, Grandmother Blythe—she sounds like a happy, lovable person, who just happened to be a bit frail. But Grandmama acts as thought she was always a desperate invalid."

Meggie had to agree. She hadn't liked those phrases in Grandmama's letter, either: "poor dear Mama," "so tired, poor thing." They sounded pitying and Meggie could not think of her mother as needing pity. "What do you think about what Grandmama said, though—besides the bit about Mama?"

Matty looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I am learning a lot here—more than I thought I would. And I have made some friends, finally. I wouldn't mind another year or two here—but I hate the thought of not being at Green Gables."

"Exactly," Meggie sighed. "If only we could have Green Gables and school. And what would Papa do without us?"

Matty hesitated. "Maybe we should ask him."

"We couldn't do that! If he knew we were thinking about staying, he'd tell us to do what we wanted without worrying about him."

"I just—remember back when we were afraid he was going to marry Aunt Una?"

"Of course." Meggie smiled a bit at the recollection. Back the, it had seemed the end of the world.

"Remember how he told us to come to him whenever we were worried about something, without fear of how he would take it? He'd want to know, Meggie."

"We were just little kids then, Matty."

Matty grinned. "We're still kids, sis."

She laughed. "I suppose we are, really. It gets hard to remember that sometimes, when everyone around us is trying to make us act like adults."

"Well," Matty said practically, "Adults know that when they have to make a tough decision, they should talk to somebody wiser first. Papa's the wisest person we know, so we should talk to him about school."

Meggie found, as usual, Matty's logic to be irrefutable. "He and Auntie Di are coming out next month for our war effort concert. We can talk to him then."

"You don't want to write?"

Meggie shook her head. ""It would be too easy for him to write back encouraging us without really meaning it. If we see him as we speak, we can read his face."

"Good thinking." Matty leaned back in his seat and drank some more of his milk. "So how are rehearsals for your concert?"

"Good." Meggie took a bite of her toast. "Graham and I have finally figured out how to blend our styles. Ms. Lea told us at the last group rehearsal that we were starting to sound very nice."

"Well, that's good."

"Yes. Now my only problem is Samantha."

Matty made a face. He knew all about Samantha from his sister. "What now? Is she still ragging on you about your clothes?"

Meggie shook her head. "No, she just keeps reminding me that Graham is hers—as if he was property or something! I keep telling her that we're just friends, but she doesn't believe me. I don't think she thinks it possible for a boy and a girl to be just friends."

Matty watched his sister's face narrowly. "And are you just friends?"

To her credit, Meggie didn't blush. "I sometimes think that I do like him in a different way than any other boy," she said candidly. "Then I just laugh at myself. I think that all of Rose's talk about Geoffy, and Samantha's insistence on boys, and Dee's letters that she sends every week telling me about her latest conquests have started to affect me. I don't want a boyfriend."

"But if you did …" Matty prompted.

This time, Meggie did blush. "If I did, Graham would be the one I would want," she admitted.

Matty nodded, seemingly satisfied. "That's one good thing about attending an all-boy's school," he said.

"What's that?"

"Less chance of getting caught up in pointless romances."

"So, there aren't any girls striving to win your heart, brother mine?" Meggie teased, glad to turn the conversation from her confusing feelings for Graham.

Matty snorted. "Not likely. Not with Gil parading around like he's Prime Minister."

Meggie giggled. It was such an accurate description of their cousin. "How is he, by the way?"

Matty planted his elbows on the table and stared into his milk. "Worried. He's worried about Uncle Ken, for one, and he's worried about Aunt Rilla and the children. Even though they're back near Grandmother and Granddad, he's worried that they need him. I think he's afraid for Aunt Rilla."

Meggie understood. Aunt Rilla had not spoken one word since Uncle Ken had announced he was leaving. She submitted to all the travel plans and new arrangements, but she refused to speak—not even to tell her husband goodbye.

"He said that both Granddad and Uncle Jem are keeping an eye on her—unobtrusively, of course, and either Grandmother, Aunt Faith, or Aunt Una go to see her every day. She's not any worse—but she's still not talking."

"Poor Aunt Rilla," Meggie said compassionately.

"Matt!"

The twins' heads swivelled in unison. Meggie saw a pleasant-looking young fellow enter the café with a girl on his arm.

"There you are, you old scoundrel," the newcomer said, slapping Matt on the back. "So this is where you disappear to every Saturday, eh?" He turned to his companion. "Blythe here is quite the mysterious chap, just vanishes without a word, shows up again at the end of the day, never tells us where he's been."

The girl giggled.

Matty's face settled into a blank expression. "Hullo, Rivers," he said. Meggie recognized his annoyance, but doubted the other two would be able to see it.

Nor did they. "Who's your girl?" Rivers asked.

"My sister, Meggie," Matty answered.

The other boy offered his hand. "Pleased to meet you," he said promptly. "My name's Sinclair Rivers. This," indicating the giggler, "is my cousin, Alma Rivers."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," Alma said to Matty, ignoring Meggie entirely.

Matty, who loathed gigglers, merely nodded.

"What say we join up for the day?" Rivers now suggested. "Matt, you can show us where you and your charming sister go every week, and Alma and I'll keep you company."

The twins managed to keep their extreme distaste at such a plan out of their faces, but their brown eyes met in mutual dismay.

"I'm so sorry," Meggie said, seeing her brother unable to concoct an excuse, "but we have something rather important to do today—family business. You will forgive us, won't you?"

"Oh!" cried Alma, clinging to Matty's arm as he tried to rise. "You mustn't run off like this! Sinclair has told me all about you; the only reason I came to visit him today was so I could meet you." She fluttered her lashes in his face.

"Terribly sorry," Matty stammered. "As Meggie said—family business—must leave—see you tonight, Rivers."

With that, the Blythe twins fled. Meggie broke down in a fit of giggles herself as soon as they were out of earshot.

"I thought you said you didn't have to worry about romances at your school," she gasped.

Matty still looked unnerved. "Good gosh, you don't think I'd like a girl like that, do you?" he said in disgust. "If I ever do get married—which I'm sure I will sometime down the road—a long, long time down the road—it will be to somebody sensible. Not Sinclair Rivers' imbecile cousin!"

Meggie recovered herself. "He seemed fairly nice."

"Oh, Rivers isn't bad, I suppose. He's better than some of the chaps. That Alma girl visits him every week, though, and he's always trying to pawn her off on one of us fellows. Can't say that I really blame him—I'd try to get rid of her too, if she was my cousin."

"Oh Matty, what a dreadful thing to say."

"Wouldn't you?" Matty demanded.

"I suppose so," Meggie conceded. "But oh—Matty, I can't believe I told a fib just to get us out of there! Papa would be so ashamed of me."

"You didn't tell a fib," Matty protested. "We do have important family business. We need to figure out just how to tell Papa we might—not definitely, but possibly—want to stay at school for another year or two; we need to decide how we're going to write back to Grandmama without getting her hopes up that we're going to stay; we need to compare notes on Peter and Bran and Polly and see how they're all doing … we have loads of family business!"

Meggie laughed and slipped her hand into his. "Why, I suppose you're right."

The twins smiled chummily at each other. It was nice to be together, whether in Toronto or Avonlea.