“I tell you what it is,” said Flossie. “There’s no earthly reason why you should stay at home. I’ll just run in this very minute and speak to mother. Why shouldn’t you come with us for a week or fortnight?”
“Do you think there’s any chance?” said Nesta, turning pale.
“There’s every possible chance. Why in the world shouldn’t you come with us? They can’t want four of you at home, and it’s downright selfish.”
“The fact is,” said Nesta, “they’re all agog to get Marcia a holiday.”
“Your elder sister—Miss Aldworth? The old maid?”
“Yes, indeed, she is that, but they all think she is looking pale, and they want her to go to those blessed St. Justs. She’s hand in glove with them, you know. She thinks of no one else on earth but that Angela of hers.”
“Well, I’m not surprised at that,” said Flossie. “Every one thinks a lot of Angela St. Just. Now, don’t keep me, I’ll rush in and speak to mother.”
She dashed into the house. The aggrieved mongrel raised a languid head and looked at her. How false she was, with that sugar in her pocket. He wagged a deprecating tail, but Flossie took no notice.
She found her mother busily engaged dusting the drawing room.
“What is it?” she said. “Are you inclined to come in and help me? This room is in a disgraceful state. I must really change Martha.”