It was truly, and this was Marcia’s surprise to her sisters. With Horace’s help, who had come forward rather liberally with his purse, the room had been repapered; it had practically been refurnished. The commonplace beds were exchanged for brass ones, the commonplace furniture for new, artistic wash-handstands and chests of drawers and wardrobes. The shabby carpet was replaced by one of neat pale blue felt; there were a few good pictures on the walls; there were pale blue hangings to the windows, and Nesta’s room just beyond was a replica of her sisters’.
The girls turned; it was Ethel who made the first step forward.
“I wouldn’t have known it—why, you are a darling!”
“And to think we ever called you Miss Mule Selfish!” said Nesta.
“Miss—what!” said Marcia.
“I won’t repeat it—forget it.”
“But tell me—it did sound so funny. Miss what Selfish?”
“Miss Mule Selfish. Oh, I never will again—I declare I am a greater beast than ever.”
“Well, girls, what I want you to do for me is this— In return for the trouble—for I have taken trouble, and Horace has spent money on your rooms as well—I want you to learn self-repression. I want you to put on neat and pretty dresses, and shoes that won’t make any sound, and then you may, one by one, come in and see mother. She is longing for you, longing for her own children; for much as she cares for me, I cannot take your place, so you needn’t imagine it for one moment.”
As Marcia said the last words she left the room. The girls stood and stared at each other.