Marcia, who was doing some light needlework in the neighbourhood of the invalid’s sofa, said:
“Come in, Nesta, and tell me what it is all about.”
“But I want to see you by yourself,” said Nesta.
“My darling,” said Mrs Aldworth, “why these constant secrets? Why shouldn’t your mothery know?”
“Oh, it’s Clara Carter—she’s downstairs. She wants to talk to you. Oh, and here’s a telegram for you.” Nesta thrust a little yellow envelope into her sister’s hand. Marcia opened it.
“It’s from Angela,” she said. “She’s coming to see me in a few minutes. What does Clara want?”
“Just to speak to you. Won’t you come down?”
“Can you spare me, dear?” said Marcia, turning to the invalid.
“Yes, of course, Marcia. Go, my dear, and don’t hurry back. I feel inclined to ask Miss Angela St. Just to come and see me this morning. You have told me so much about her that I should like to see her; she must be a very nice girl.”
“She is, very nice and very beautiful. She is one of God’s angels. Her name is one of the most appropriate things about her,” said Marcia.