Flossie flew downstairs.
“You needn’t be a bit uneasy. Father and mother look as contented as though they never had a trouble in the world.”
Wondering somewhat, Nesta did go upstairs. She ate her dinner, but all the time she was watching the door. Any minute either Marcia herself, stern, uncompromising, unyielding, unforgiving, might appear, or a horrible telegram addressed to Mrs Griffiths might be thrust into her hand. In any case her disgrace must be near at hand.
But strange as it may seem, the whole day passed, and there was no sort of telegram for Nesta. She wondered and wondered.
“This is quite lucky,” she said to Flossie, as she was undressing for the night. “I really can’t understand it. Of course, it’s those girls; they never sent my telegram on to Marcia.”
“Well, you know, you didn’t send any address,” said Flossie.
“Of course I didn’t; but don’t you suppose that they’d immediately rush off to your house, and get your address from your servants?”
“I never thought of that,” said Flossie.
“They could find me if they wished. It’s all that Miss Mule Selfish; she’s so absorbed in her own pleasure she has forgotten all about me.”
The next day passed without any notice being taken of Nesta, and the next, and the next. Nesta was quite bewildered. At first she was delighted, then she began to consider herself a slightly aggrieved person, particularly when Flossie taunted her with the fact that she did not seem to be missed much at home.