A Bevy of Girls. Meade L. T.
cheerfully you do it the better.”
In the end it was Molly who was induced to undertake the unwelcome task. She shrugged her shoulders and prepared to leave the room, her head drooping.
“Come, Molly,” said Marcia, following her. “You mustn’t go to mother in that spirit.”
She took Molly’s hand when they got into the hall.
“Can you not remember, dear, that she is your mother?”
“Oh, don’t I remember it. Isn’t it dinned into me morning, noon, and night? I often wish – ”
“Don’t say the dreadful words, Molly, even if you have the thought. Don’t utter the words, for she is your mother. She tended you when you could not help yourself. She brought you into the world in pain and sorrow. She is your mother. No one else could ever take her place.”
“If you would only take her to-day, Marcia, we would try to behave to-morrow. If you would only take her this one day; it is such a blow to us all, you know,” said Molly.
Marcia almost longed to yield; but no, it would not do. If the girls saw any trace of weakness about her now, she would never be able to uphold her position in the future.
“I tell you what I will do,” she said, “I will go with you into mother’s room, and see you comfortably settled, and perhaps – I am not promising – but perhaps I’ll have tea with you in mother’s room presently; but you must do the work, Molly; until mother is in bed to-night she is in your charge. Now, come along.”
Marcia took her sister to her own room.
“Let me brush your hair,” she said.
“But you’ll disarrange it.”
“Now, Molly, did not I always improve your style of hair dressing? Your hair looks a show now, and I could make it look quite pretty.”
In another moment Molly found herself under Marcia’s controlling fingers. Her soft, abundant hair was arranged in a new style which suited her, so that she was quite delighted, and began to laugh and show her pretty white teeth.
“Here is some blue ribbon which I have brought you as a little present,” said Marcia. – “You might tie it in a knot round the neck of your white blouse. There, you look quite sweet; now put some smiles on your face and come along, dear, for mother must be tired of waiting.”
Mrs Aldworth was amazed when she saw the two girls enter the room hand in hand.
“Oh, Molly,” she said. “Good-morning, dear, you haven’t been to see your old mother yet to-day, but I’ll excuse you, my love. How very nice you look, quite pretty. I must say, Marcia dear, that my children are the beauties of the family.”
Marcia smiled. She went straight up to the open window. Molly fidgeted about near her mother.
“Sit down, Molly, won’t you?” said Marcia.
“But why should she?” said Mrs Aldworth. “The poor child is longing to go out for a bit of fun, and I’m sure I don’t wonder. Run along, Molly, my love. Marcia and I are going to have such a busy afternoon.”
“No,” said Marcia suddenly. She turned round and faced Mrs Aldworth. “I must tell you,” she continued, “I am really sorry for you and the girls, but they must take their share in looking after you. I will come to you at this time to-morrow, and spend the rest of the day with you. Molly, you can explain the rest of the situation. Do your duty, love, and, dear mother, believe that I love you. But there are four of us in the house and it must be our pleasure, and our duty, and it ought to be our high privilege, to devote part of our time to nursing you.”
Chapter Four
A Refreshing Tea
The door closed behind Marcia. Mrs Aldworth was so astonished that she had not time to find her breath before the daring culprit had disappeared. She looked now at Molly. Molly, who had quite forgotten her rôle, turned to her mother for sympathy.
“Oh, mother, could you have believed it of her? She is just the meanest old cat in existence.”
“But what is it, Molly? Do you mean to say that Marcia – Marcia – won’t be with me, her mother, this afternoon?”
“Catch her, indeed,” said the angry Molly. “Didn’t you say, mother, and didn’t you hear father say that when Marcia came home, we three girls would have a fine time of freedom? It was always, always like that – ‘Wait till Marcia comes back.’ Now she is back, and she – oh, mother, I couldn’t believe it of her, I couldn’t! I couldn’t!”
Molly sobbed and sobbed. At another moment Mrs Aldworth would have sent Molly from her room, but now she was so thoroughly angry with Marcia that she was inclined to sympathise with her.
“I will tell you everything, mother. It really is too marvellous. It is almost past belief.”
“Sit down, Molly, and try to stop crying. It is so disfiguring to your face. You are wonderfully like what I used to be when I was a girl. That is, before my poor health gave way, and my poor dear nerves failed me. If you cry like that you will suffer in the end, as I am suffering. You will be a helpless, neglected, disliked invalid.”
“Oh, mother,” said Molly, “I should not be at all surprised, and I only eighteen. You know Marcia is two years older, quite old, you know, out of her teens. When a girl gets out of her teens you expect her to be a little bit steady, don’t you, mother?”
“Of course, dear, of course. But stop crying. I can’t hear you when you sob between each word.”
“It’s enough to make anybody sob. We were so happy yesterday, we three. Ethel and I had everything planned – we were going to the Carters’ dance to-night. You know Edward was to be there, and – and – Rob, who is so taken with Ethel, and our dresses were ready and everything.”
“But why cannot you go, my dear child? You must go.”
“It is impossible, mother, and it is all Marcia’s doing. Our only fear was that perhaps Marcia would not come; but when she did enter the house we did feel ourselves safe. Nesta, poor pet, was going to play tennis with the Fortescues, but everything is knocked on the head now.”
“There’s an unpleasant draught over my feet,” said Mrs Aldworth. “Please, Molly, get me a light shawl to throw over them. No, not that one, the light one, the light one with the grey border. Just put it over my feet and tuck it in a little round the edge – not too much. You are not very skilful. Now, Marcia – ”
“Oh, mother, you’ll have to do without much of your precious Marcia. It was an awful mistake to let her go to Frankfort; it has ruined her. She has come back most terribly conceited and most, most selfish.”
“I never did greatly admire her,” said Mrs Aldworth. “As a child she was exceedingly obstinate.”
“Like a mule, I’ve no doubt,” said Molly. “Oh, dear, dear! I know I’ve got a quick temper, but as to being mulish – I wouldn’t make others unhappy, and she has made three girls so wretched.”
“Well, out with it, Molly.”
Mrs Aldworth was so much interested and so much amazed, that now that her feet had just the right degree of heat provided for them by the shawl with the grey border, she was inclined to listen with curiosity.
“It was at breakfast, mother; we had planned our day, and then all of a sudden Marcia turned round and faced us. She said that she was going to look after you one day in the morning and the next day in the afternoon, and that we three girls were to look after you during the alternate times, and she said – ”
“She surely didn’t say anything so monstrous and inhuman in the presence of your father?”
“That’s the worst of it, mother, you wouldn’t believe for a single moment that she could, but she did.”
“I don’t believe you, Molly.”
“Well, mother, I’ll call her back, she will