“If we don’t know by nine o’clock, I must wire to father.”
It was just at that moment that there came a ring at the front door, a sharp ring. Ethel felt her heart beating; Molly also turned first red and then pale.
“That sounds like a telegram,” said Molly, and she rushed into the hall.
It was; it was addressed to Marcia Aldworth. She tore it open and read the contents.
“I’m all right; expect me when you see me. Nesta.”
There was no address; but it was plain that the telegram had been sent from Scarborough. Marcia sank on to the sofa. Molly bent over her; Ethel peered at the telegram from the other side.
“There, didn’t I say she was about the—”
“Please, Angela, will you come with me into the next room?” said Marcia.
She left the telegram for her two sisters to devour between them, and took Angela away. The moment they were alone, Marcia sank down on a chair; tears rose to her eyes—she did not know that they were there—one overflowed and rolled down her cheek. Angela looked at her steadily.
“It is quite hopeless,” she said. “Think of her doing that!”