"It is all too wonderful," said Nesta.
"Yes, isn't it?" replied Penelope.
"To think," continued Nesta, "that I should like it, that I should even
on the whole be quite pleased."
"As to me," said Penelope, "I can scarcely contain myself. It is all on
account of her, too. In fact, it is on account of both of them. They
are both coming, you know."
"Oh, it is mostly on account of her, as far as I am concerned," said
Nesta.
As Nesta spoke Penelope looked at her.
"You certainly are very much changed," she said. "I wouldn't know you
for the same girl."
"And I wouldn't know you for the same girl," retorted Nesta. "You seem
to be sort of--sort of watching yourself all the time."
Penelope smiled. She slipped her hand through Nesta's arm.
"Let us walk up and down," she said.
The girls disappeared out of a low French window, and paced slowly up
the shrubbery at Court Prospect. When they came to the end of the
shrubbery they crossed the lawn and stood for a few moments just where
they could get a peep into what had been the rose garden. That
old-world garden where Angela used to walk when she was a child, and
where her mother had walked before her. When they reached this spot,
Penelope said very slowly:
"Do you know, Nesta, it was here, just here, she found me. Here on the
ground."
"Were you really just here?" said Nesta.
"I was, and I was about as miserable a girl as could be found in the
wide world. I told you all about it, didn't I?"
"Oh, yes, and we needn't go into it now, need we?"
"We need never talk of it any more. It is buried away deep; even God
has forgotten it, at least, that is what Angela says."
"I was a thousand times worse than you," said Nesta, "and Angela says--
by the way she found me, too, lying on the grass--I was sobbing
bitterly. I had cause to sob, I was just fifty times as wicked as you.
But we needn't talk of that now."
"Of course not," replied Penelope, "for as Angela says, if God has
forgotten, nobody else need mind."
"But it is strange," continued Nesta, "how different you are."
"And how different you are, Nesta, so we both understand each other."
They walked a little further, and then they turned. Wonderful things
had happened since that day only two short months ago, when Angela St
Just had found Nesta sobbing her heart out on the banks of the pretty
little river Tarn, which flowed not far from Castle Walworth.
Amongst many remarkable things Mrs Aldworth had been restored to
comparative health. The great specialist who had come down from London
on purpose to see her, declared that all the treatment she had hitherto
undergone was wrong. He had suggested a course of electricity, which
really had a miraculous effect. It strengthened her nerves and seemed
to build up her whole system. Mrs Aldworth was so well that it was no
longer in the least necessary for her to be confined to her bedroom.
She had remained at Hurst Castle for over six weeks, and a fortnight ago
had started for the continent with Molly, and Ethel, and Nurse Davenant
as her companions. This was Angela's suggestion. Angela thought that
Mrs Aldworth and the girls would really enjoy a little tour in Normandy
and Brittany, and afterwards they might go further south. To Mrs
Aldworth it seemed like a glimpse of heaven, and Molly and Ethel were in
raptures at the thought of their new dresses, and their new
surroundings, and had gone off with the cheers and good will of every
one concerned.
The final arrangement of all was that Nesta and Penelope were to go for
a year to that excellent school at Frankfort, which Mrs Silchester
presided over. Marcia was to go back again to her beloved occupation,
and Angela was to spend the winter with them. Thus, indeed, was
everything _couleur de rose_.
"For my part," said Nesta, as she continued to talk to her companion, "I
can't imagine how I could ever take up with that common girl, Flossie
Griffiths."
"Angela says that no one is common, that if we look deep enough we shall
find something to love and to care for in every human being," said
Penelope. "I never used to think so, and if any one had said that sort
of thing to me some time ago, I should have set that person down as a
prig, but somehow when Angela says it, I don't seem to mind a bit. It
seems to come all right. Isn't it quite wonderful?"
"Yes, she is like no one else," said Nesta.
But just as this moment, when they were both talking and wondering what
the future would bring forth, and what golden hopes would be realised,
and how many good resolutions carried into effect, there was seen
crossing the lawn a stout little woman and a girl walking by her side.
This person was no other than Mrs Griffiths, of Scarborough fame. Just
for the moment Nesta held back. She had not seen Mrs Griffiths, and
had not heard a single word from Flossie since the day she had left
Scarborough. Mrs Griffiths had not even acknowledged the letter in
which Nesta had returned the half-sovereign.
"Oh, there they come, and I don't one bit want to meet them," said Nesta
to Penelope.
But Mrs Griffiths quickly waddled forward.
"Now, my dear Nesta, this is just wonderful. I am glad to see you
again. Do you remember the shrimps and the wading, and how we bathed on
a certain morning that shall be nameless?"
Nesta coloured and glanced at Penelope. Flossie, without taking any
notice of Nesta, went straight up to Penelope.
"Well," she said, "and how are you? What is all this fuss about? Why
should you, who hoped to be a grand lady, go off to a dull German
school? I am sure I should hate it."
"I don't," said Penelope. "I like it very much."
"Nesta," said Mrs Griffiths, "just come along and have a walk with me
all alone."
Nesta was forced to comply.
"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.
"Why, she says she was all wrong about that fine-lady sister of hers,
and that she herself is Miss Mule Selfish."
"Very likely," said Flossie. "I always did think Nesta a remarkably
selfish girl, even when she was supposed to be my great friend. Mother,
have you told her?"
"No," said Mrs Griffiths, "I have been asking her about herself. She
is going to the German school, and she seems quite pleased."
"Yes, I am delighted," said Nesta.
"Well then, you may as well tell her now," said Flossie.
"It's this," said Mrs Griffiths, slightly mincing her words and
speaking in a rather affected tone, "that Floss and I are going to
London, for father--we always call him father, don't we, Floss?--that is
Mr Griffiths, you know, has got a splendid opening there, and he is
taking a very fine house in Bayswater, and we are to live there, and
Flossie will have masters for music and dancing, and she will come out
presently, and perhaps make a great match, for I am given to understand
that the men admire her very much, with her black eyes and her rosy
cheeks."
"Oh, don't," said Flossie, flushing, it is true, but at the same time
flashing her eyes with a delighted glance from Nesta to Penelope.
"We'll be very rich in the future," she said, in a modest tone, and then
she dropped her eyes.
There was a dead pause for a minute or two.
"Father has been having some luck lately," said Mrs Griffiths, "and so
perhaps he'll ride over the heads even of the grand Aldworths, and even
of you Carters, although you do own a fine place like Court Prospect."
"We are very glad," said Nesta.
"I thought, perhaps," said Flossie, "it would be best to say that seeing
the change in my circumstances, I wish to have nothing more to do with
you, Nesta Aldworth."
"It seems unkind," said Mrs Griffiths. "I didn't much like coming up
here to say it, but Flossie was determined."
"It was father and I who settled it last night," said Flossie. "I spoke
to him about it, and he said that such a very deceitful girl could have
nothing to do with me in the future; so this is good-bye. I wish you
well, of course. I would not wish my worst enemy anything but well, but
whatever happens in the future I cannot know you."
"Very well; of course I am sorry. I know I behaved like a perfect
horror," said Nesta.
"You say that!" cried Flossie. There was a queer look in her black
eyes. She fully expected that Nesta would make a scene and get, in
short, into one of her celebrated tantrums; but Nesta's eyes kept on
being sorry, and Penelope said:
"Oh, don't let's talk about disagreeables. If we are all happy in our
own way, why should we nag and jar at one another? Do come into the
house, Mrs Griffiths, and have some tea, and if father is anywhere
round I'll ask him to have a chat with you. I am sure he will be
delighted to hear that Mr Griffiths had made a lot of money."
"Not so much made, my dear," said Mrs Griffiths, going on in front with
Penelope, "but in the making. That's it--it's in the making. We are
likely to be richer and richer. Father is so excited you can scarcely
hold him in bounds. But there, my dear, there. I am sorry Flossie is
so rude, but the child's head is turned by her fine prospects."
When they got near the house Nesta turned and looked at Flossie.
"So you are never going to speak to me again, even though--"
"Well?" said Flossie.
"Even though we were such friends always."
"You never really loved me; I don't believe it a bit," was Flossie's
response. "Did you, now?"
"I think I did," said Nesta; "in a horribly selfish way perhaps."
"Well, you were fairly generous, that I will say," continued Flossie,
"with regard to your yellow-boy. Anyhow, I'll try to think kindly of
you. Take a kiss and we'll say no more about it."
Nesta thought that to kiss Flossie at that moment was one of the hardest
things she had to do. But then she was doing a great many hard things
just then, and she found as life went on that she had to go on doing
hard things, harder and harder each day; a fault to be struggled with
each day, a lesson to be learnt, for hers was by no means an easy
character. She was not naturally amiable; she was full of self-will,
pride, and obstinacy; but nevertheless, that sweet germ of love which
Angela had planted in her heart that day down by the river, kept on
growing and growing, sometimes, it is true, very nearly nipped by the
frosts of that wintry side of her nature, or scorched by the tempests of
her violent passions, but nevertheless, the fires of summer, and the
frosts of winter could not quite destroy it, for it was watered by
something higher than anything Nesta could herself impart to it.
"Nesta is the best of them all," said Marcia, a long time afterwards to
Angela, "and she owes it to you."
"No," said Angela, "she owes it to God."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The End.