“For me?” said Nesta. “Golloptious! I did want a bedroom to myself.”
“I thought you were fearfully crowded, and I wanted besides—”
“What is the matter?” said Molly suddenly.
“To make things as different as possible from what they were during that night.”
“I do believe you are kind,” said Molly, and something hot came at the back of her eyes, which made them suspiciously bright for a moment.
“If you will only believe that, my darlings, I don’t care how hard I work,” said the elder sister.
The meal came to an end, the girls had eaten even as much as Nesta’s healthy appetite demanded, and accompanied by Marcia they went upstairs. Did they not know those stairs well—that darn in the carpet, that shabby blind at the lobby window, that narrow landing just above? And mother’s room at the far end of the passage—mother’s room with the green baize door, which was supposed to shut away sound, but did not. Oh, did they not remember it all, and how it looked on that awful night? And this was the way to their room. What had they not endured during that night in their own room? Molly almost staggered.
“Aren’t you well, dear?” said Marcia very tenderly.
“I—I don’t know. Oh, yes, I suppose so. I’m all right—I mean it’s just a little overcoming,” she said, after a minute’s pause. “Past memories, you know.”
“I quite understand. But see your room, it is quite altered.”