A Bevy of Girls

But the jiffy, if that should be a measurement of time, proved to be a long one. When Susan did come back it was with a face full of concern.

“I’m ever so sorry, ma’am, but Miss Nesta ain’t anywhere in the house. I’ve been all over the house and all over the garden, and there ain’t a sign of her anywhere. Shall I call Miss Marcia, ma’am?”

“Nonsense, Susan, you know quite well that Miss Marcia has gone to Hurst Castle. She has gone to see the St. Justs.”

Susan was not impressed by this fact.

“Whatever is to be done?” she said.

“Send one of the other young ladies to me. Send Miss Molly, it is her turn, I think, but send one of them.”

Now this was exactly what naughty Nesta had prophesied would happen, Molly, dressed in a pale blue muslin, which she had made herself, a pale blue muslin with little bows of forget-me-not ribbon all down the front of the bodice, her hair becomingly dressed, her hands clean and white, with a little old-fashioned ring of her mother’s on one finger, was waiting to greet the Carters. The Carters were to come in by the lower gate; they were to come right through the garden and straight along the path to the summerhouse. Ethel was in the summerhouse. She was in white; she was giving the final touches to the feast. It was a feast to delight the eyes of any tired guest, such strawberries, so large, so ripe, so luscious; a great jug of cream, white, soft sugar, a pile of hot cakes, jam sandwiches, fragrant tea, the best Sèvres china having been purloined from the cupboard in the drawing room for the occasion.

“They haven’t china like that at the Carters’, rich as they are,” said Molly.

Oh, it was a time to think over afterwards with delight; a time to enjoy to the full measure of bliss in the present. And they were coming – already just above the garden wall Molly could see Clara’s hat with its pink bow and white bird-of-paradise feather, and Mabel’s hat with its blue bow and seagull’s wings. And beside them was somebody else, some one in a straw hat with a band of black ribbon round it. Why, it was Jim! This was just too much; the cup of bliss began to overflow!

Molly rushed on tiptoe into the summerhouse.

“They’re coming!” she whispered, “and Jim is with them! Have we got enough cups and saucers? Oh, yes, good Susan! Now I am going to stand at the gate.”

The gate was opened and the three visitors appeared. Molly shook hands most gracefully; Jim gave her an admiring glance.

It was just then that Susan, distracted, her face crimson, hurried out.

“Miss Molly,” she said, “Miss Molly!”

“Bring the tea, please,” said Molly, in a manner which seemed to say – “Keep yourself at a distance, if you please.”

“Miss Molly, you must go to the missus at once.”

“Why?” said Molly.

“She’s that flustered she’s a’most in hysterics. That naughty Miss Nesta has gone and run away. She ain’t been with her at all. Missus has been alone the whole blessed afternoon.”

“I can’t go now,” said Molly, “and I won’t.”

“Miss Molly, you must.”

“Go away, Susan. Clara, dear, I’m sorry that the day should be such a hot one, but you will it so refreshing in the summerhouse.”

“You have quite a nice garden,” said Clara, in a patronising voice, but Mabel turned and looked full at Molly.

“Did your servant say your mother wanted you?”

“Oh, there’s no hurry,” said Molly, who felt all her calm forsaking her, and crimson spots rising to her cheeks.

“Oh, do go, please,” said Clara. “Here’s Ethel; she will look after us. Oh, what good strawberries; I’m ever so thirsty! Run along, Molly, you must go if your mother wants you.”

“Of course you must,” said Jim.

“You must go at once, please,” said Clara. “Do go. I heard what the servant said, she was in quite a state, poor thing.”

Thus adjured Molly went away. It is true she kept her temper until she got out of sight of her guests; but once in the house her fury broke bounds. She was really scarcely accountable for her actions for a minute or two. Then she went upstairs and entered her mother’s room with anything but a soothing manner to the poor invalid.

“Is that you, Nesta?” said Mrs Aldworth, who from her position, on the sofa could not see who had entered the room.

“No,” said Molly, “it’s not Nesta, it is I, Molly, and it is not my day to be with you, mother. We have friends in the garden. Please, what is the matter? I can’t stay now, really; I can’t possibly stay.”

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