“But I want to bathe. Mother is going to bathe, and she said we two could go with her. You didn’t, of course, bring a bathing dress, but we can hire them here.”
Nesta was not inclined to bathe. It would, she protested, take up too much time. She wanted to go for a long walk alone with her friend. She suggested that they should go first of all to a pastrycook’s, supply themselves with a good, large bag of edibles, and then wander away on the cliffs. Flossie; after due consideration, was nothing loath.
“That horrid telegram is sure to come, and then the fat will be in the fire,” said Nesta.
“That’s true enough,” replied Flossie, “and I expect I’ll be scolded too. You’ll have to stand the blame—you’ll have to tell them that it was more your fault than mine.”
“Oh, I like that!” said Nesta. “You mean to tell me that you won’t take my part, when I get into a beastly row all on account of you?”
The girls had a little tiff, as was their way; but their real affection for each other soon smoothed it over. Mrs Griffiths was talked round to see the expediency of Nesta and Flossie putting off their bathe until the next day, and accordingly the two girls started off for their walk.
There was no doubt whatever in Nesta’s mind that retribution must come that day. It was the right day for Nemesis. She had enjoyed Saturday, but she had not enjoyed Sunday quite so much, for there was the possibility that somebody would come to fetch her back. On Sunday the girls might have sent the telegram to Marcia by special messenger, but on the other hand, Molly and Ethel were very careless; they did not care whether Nesta was in the house or not. They had probably not sent it on. But of course, there was not the least doubt that Marcia would receive it on Monday morning. What was to be done? She resolved to enjoy her walk even if it was the last. She spent a shilling of her precious money, secured a most unwholesome meal, which the two girls ate on the high cliffs just outside Scarborough, and then returned home in time for lunch.
“I’m not a bit hungry,” said Nesta, “and I know there’ll be a fearful row when we go upstairs. Do go first, Flossie; I’ll wait here. If there’s anything awful, I’ll run down by the shore until it has blown over. Do go, Floss.”
Flossie was cajoled into doing what Nesta wished. She went upstairs. Her father and mother were both waiting for them. They looked tranquil, as tranquil could be.
“Where’s Nesta!” called out Mrs Griffiths from the landing. “Tell her to take off her hat and come in at once. Our dinner is getting cold.”