“Oh, Mrs Griffiths, if you would be good, if you would but just lend me enough money to get home before—before he comes.”
“Well, now, that wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Mrs Griffiths. “You can make off, I will see you into the tram; you don’t mind travelling third-class, do you?”
“I’d travel on the top of the train—I’d travel in the guard’s van—I’d travel anywhere only to get away,” said Nesta.
“Well, child, I’ll just look up the trains, and put you into one myself—or no, perhaps I’d better not. You might give us the slip, as it were. If he thought that I’d let you go home before he came, he’d give me a piece of his mind, and there’d be the mischief to pay again. You can find your own way to the station.”
“I can. I can.”
“I’ll look out the very next train, the very next.”
“Oh, do, please do. And please lend me some money.”
Mrs Griffiths produced half a sovereign, which she put into Nesta’s palm. Nesta hardly waited to thank her.
“Good-bye. Oh, I am grateful—I will write. Explain to Flossie. Try to forgive me—it was so dull at home, only Miss Mule Selfish, you know, and Molly and Ethel.”
“And your mother,” said Mrs Griffiths, a little severely, for it was the thought of the anxiety that Nesta had given her mother which touched Mrs Griffiths’ heart most nearly.