“Is it true,” said Mrs Griffiths, in an awe-struck tone, “that you are hand in glove with those aristocratic St. Justs?”
“I am not,” said Nesta, who with all her faults was very downright. “Only Angela, one of the family, has been very kind to me, more than kind. She wouldn’t have noticed me but for Marcia, dear Marcia. I owe it all to her.”
“To your sister Marcia, that priggish girl, the old maid of the family as you used to call her? Miss Mule Selfish?”
Mrs Griffiths laughed.
“I did roar over that name,” she said. “I told Griffiths about it, and I thought he wouldn’t never stop laughing. He said it was the best and very smartest thing he had ever heard any girl say. It was you who gave it, wasn’t it?”
“I did; I am horrible sorry, for she isn’t Miss Mule Selfish at all. The name fits me best,” said Nesta.
“Oh, my word,” said Mrs Griffiths. “How queer you are. You are much changed; I doubt if you are improved. Flossie, come along here this minute.”
Flossie ran forward.
“What do you think Nesta calls herself now?”
“What?” said Flossie, who was not specially inclined to be friendly.