“I regret to say that I don’t know anything about them,” said Marcia. “I have lived a great deal out of England,” she continued, “and since I came home I have been much occupied.”
“Oh, yes,” said Clara with enthusiasm, “we all know how noble you have been—you saved the life of the poor dear girls’ mamma, didn’t you?”
“No, it was God who did that.”
“Oh, thank you so much for reproving me. I didn’t mean in that way. But for you, for your finding her just when you did, she might have died. It was very awful, wasn’t it? I did so pity Molly and Ethel. You see, they had invited us to tea, and they gave us, poor girls, a very nice meal; we all quite enjoyed it, and Molly looked so pretty in her blue dress. I think Molly is quite pretty, don’t you?”
No reply from Marcia.
“You know she went up to her mother because Nesta—naughty Nesta, had run away. Nesta is very naughty, isn’t she?”
Marcia very faintly smiled.
“May I draw down this blind?” she said. “The sun is getting into your eyes.”
“Thank you, how kind of you—how considerate. Well, as I was saying, a servant came out and spoke to Molly, and said that her mother wanted her. Molly went in, and she came back in a few minutes and seemed quite jolly and happy. She thought that her mother was going to sleep. But it wasn’t a real sleep, was it? Do tell me the truth. I have always been so anxious to know. You see, when the girls came to us, they were in such a dreadful state of grief, that we did not dare to question them, and we have never dared to question them from that day to this. But I should like to know the truth. Was it a natural sleep?”
“I am sorry, very sorry,” replied Marcia, “that I cannot enlighten you. That dreadful time is over, and thank God, Mrs Aldworth’s life has been spared.”