Ethel was the exact counterpart of Molly, but not quite so good-looking. These three girls were Marcia’s step-sisters.
In the distance there appeared the towering form of a young man with very broad shoulders, and a resolute face. He was Marcia’s own brother. She gave one really glad cry when she saw him, and flung herself into his arms.
“Good old girl! I said you’d have the spunk to do your duty,” he whispered in her ear, and he patted her on the shoulder.
She felt a strange sense of comfort; she had hardly thought of him during the journey; once he had been all in all to her, but circumstances had divided them. He had been angry with her, and she had felt his anger very much. He had preached duty to her until she was sick of the word and hated the subject. She had rejected his advice. Now he was here, and he approved of her, so things would not be quite so bad. His love was worth that of a hundred schoolgirls.
“Oh, yes, yes,” she whispered back, and he saw the pent-up emotion in her at once.
“Marcia, come upstairs,” said Nesta. “I want to see you. You needn’t go to Mummy yet. She said you weren’t to be worried. Mummy is too delighted for anything. We have put a new dressing gown on her, and she looks so smart, and we’ve tidied up the room.”
“Of course,” said Ethel, “we’ve, tidied up the room.”
“We have,” said Molly, “and we’ve put a white coverlet over the bed, and Mummy looks ever so pleased. She says you’ll read to her for hours and hours.”
“Of course you will, Marcia,” said Nesta. “It does so tire my throat when I read aloud for a long time.”
“And mine!” said Molly.