“You can manage anybody, you know, mother,” said Nesta.
Mrs Aldworth allowed herself to smile. She mopped the tears from her eyes and sat up a little higher on her sofa.
“Now, darling,” she said, “draw up that blind. Marcia has made the room too dark.”
“Catch her doing anything right!” said Nesta.
She pulled up the Venetian blind with a bang. Alas, one of the cords snapped. Immediately the rods of wood became crooked, and the light darted on to Mrs Aldworth’s face.
“You tiresome, clumsy child,” said the mother. “Now what is to be done?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. I’m very sorry,” said Nesta. “I’m all thumbs—I have always said so. I suppose it’s because I’m so ridiculously young.”
Mrs Aldworth scolded in the fretful way in which she could scold; the girls between them managed to move the sofa, and after a time peace was restored; but the room was disorderly, and the crooked blind wobbling in a most disreputable manner against the partly opened window, did not improve its appearance.
“What will you do, mother?” said Nesta. “Do tell us what you will do?”
“Well,” said Mrs Aldworth, “I shall insist firmly on obedience.”