“Good girl, capital!” said Horace, giving his sister a glance of approval.
“Don’t you think we needn’t talk of it just now?” said Marcia. “We don’t see so much of you, Horace. Have you nothing funny to tell mother?”
“I have, I have all kinds of stories. But you look tired, old girl. Run away and rest in the garden for an hour. I’ll stay with mother for just that time.”
Marcia gave him a glance of real gratitude. Oh, she was tired. The invalid was difficult; the afternoon hours seemed as though they would never end.
When she went back again Horace had soothed his mother into a most beatific state of bliss. She told Marcia that she was the best girl in all the world; that she would confide the entire future of her three girls to dear Marcia, that Marcia should train them, should make them noble like herself.
“And I’ll tell them so: I’ll tell that naughty little Nesta to-morrow afternoon. I’ll tell her she must look after me: I’ll be firm; I’ll put down my foot,” said Mrs Aldworth.
Marcia made no response. Another long hour and a half had to be got through and then the invalid was safe in bed, with all her small requirements at hand. She opened her eyes sleepily.
“God bless you, Marcia dear. You are a very good girl, and the joy of my life.”