“Doing what? Remember I have not seen the telegram.”
“She says she is all right, and we are to expect her when we see her. She has gone to Scarborough; she has run away. She is with the Griffiths, of course. What is to be done with a girl of that sort?”
“Marcia, you are wearing yourself out for them.”
“I am, and it is hopeless. What am I to say to mother? How am I to put it to her?”
“You must tell her that Nesta will not be back until the morning; that she is quite safe. In the morning you must tell her the truth.”
“How can I possibly tell her the truth?”
“You must.”
“Oh, Angela! it is hopeless; those girls seem to have no hearts. I did think after mother was so ill that they had turned over a new leaf; I was full of hope, and Nesta seemed the most impressed; but see what this means. She has gone away; she has left us all in misery. What a day we have had! and now, at the eleventh hour, when she thought we could not possibly send for her, she sends this. What am I to do?”
“You must just go on hoping and praying, and trusting and believing,” said Angela. “My dear Marcia, twenty things ought not to shake a faith like yours.”
“Well, at any rate, she is not in bodily danger; but what a terrible revelation of her character! She must have planned all this. She knew that father was away, and that Horace was away, and she fully expected that I should also be away. She had a kind of vague hope that the girls would not open the telegram. You see how she has laid her plans. She knows in the end she must be recalled, but she is determined to have as much pleasure as she can.”