“Dear me, cook, I think you are remarkably impertinent. I shall ask mother not to keep you. Mother never would allow servants to speak to us in that tone. You forget yourself, Susan.”
“It’s you that forgets yourself, Miss Nesta,” said Susan. “There; where’s the use of stirring up ill will? Ain’t there sorrow enough in this house this blessed night?”
“Sorrow,” said Nesta, now really alarmed. “What is it?”
“It’s your mother, poor soul,” said Susan. She looked into Nesta’s face and there and then determined not to spare her.
“Mother? Mother?”
For the first time the girl forgot herself. There fell away from her that terrible cloak of selfishness in which she had wrapped herself.
“Mother? Is anything wrong with her?”
“Dr Anstruther is upstairs, and he is going to spend the night here, and Miss Marcia is with her, and not a living soul of you is to go near her; you wouldn’t when you might, and now you long to, you won’t be let; so that’s about the truth, and if the poor darling holds out till the morning it’ll be something to be thankful for. Why, she nearly died, and for all that I can tell you, she may be dying now.”
“Nonsense!” said Nesta. “What lies you tell!”
She stalked out of the kitchen. For the life of her she could not have gone out in any other fashion. Had she attempted any other than the utmost bravado, she must have fallen. In the hall she met Molly and Ethel coming in; their faces were bright, their eyes were shining. What a good time they had had. That supper! That little impromptu dance afterwards! The tennis before supper! The walk home with Jim and Harry. Jim escorted Molly home; he had quite forgiven her, and Harry was untiring in his attentions to Ethel. Oh, what a glorious, glorified world they had been living in. But, now, what was the matter! They saw Nesta and looked into her face. Full of wrath they pounced upon her.