“We need never talk of it any more. It is buried away deep; even God has forgotten it, at least, that is what Angela says.”
“I was a thousand times worse than you,” said Nesta, “and Angela says—by the way she found me, too, lying on the grass—I was sobbing bitterly. I had cause to sob, I was just fifty times as wicked as you. But we needn’t talk of that now.”
“Of course not,” replied Penelope, “for as Angela says, if God has forgotten, nobody else need mind.”
“But it is strange,” continued Nesta, “how different you are.”
“And how different you are, Nesta, so we both understand each other.”
They walked a little further, and then they turned. Wonderful things had happened since that day only two short months ago, when Angela St. Just had found Nesta sobbing her heart out on the banks of the pretty little river Tarn, which flowed not far from Castle Walworth.
Amongst many remarkable things Mrs Aldworth had been restored to comparative health. The great specialist who had come down from London on purpose to see her, declared that all the treatment she had hitherto undergone was wrong. He had suggested a course of electricity, which really had a miraculous effect. It strengthened her nerves and seemed to build up her whole system. Mrs Aldworth was so well that it was no longer in the least necessary for her to be confined to her bedroom. She had remained at Hurst Castle for over six weeks, and a fortnight ago had started for the continent with Molly, and Ethel, and Nurse Davenant as her companions. This was Angela’s suggestion. Angela thought that Mrs Aldworth and the girls would really enjoy a little tour in Normandy and Brittany, and afterwards they might go further south. To Mrs Aldworth it seemed like a glimpse of heaven, and Molly and Ethel were in raptures at the thought of their new dresses, and their new surroundings, and had gone off with the cheers and good will of every one concerned.
The final arrangement of all was that Nesta and Penelope were to go for a year to that excellent school at Frankfort, which Mrs Silchester presided over. Marcia was to go back again to her beloved occupation, and Angela was to spend the winter with them. Thus, indeed, was everything couleur de rose.
“For my part,” said Nesta, as she continued to talk to her companion, “I can’t imagine how I could ever take up with that common girl, Flossie Griffiths.”
“Angela says that no one is common, that if we look deep enough we shall find something to love and to care for in every human being,” said Penelope. “I never used to think so, and if any one had said that sort of thing to me some time ago, I should have set that person down as a prig, but somehow when Angela says it, I don’t seem to mind a bit. It seems to come all right. Isn’t it quite wonderful?”