Flossie was her dearest friend. Between Flossie and Nesta had sprung up that sort of adoring friendship that often exists between two young girls in that period of their lives. Flossie and Nesta declared that they thought alike, that when a thought darted through the brain of one, it immediately visited the other. Every idea was in common; all their plans were made to suit the convenience of each other. Nesta used to say that Flossie was like her true sister, for her own sisters were of course absorbed in each other.
“There are Molly and Ethel, they are always hugger-muggering,” she used to say. “What should I do but for my Flossie? I am quite happy because I have got my Flossie.”
Therefore, to have to tell her that she could not walk with her, could not confide secrets to her, could not be so much in her company just because there was a tiresome old mother at home, who ought to be nursed by an equally tiresome elder sister, a confirmed old maid, was more than Nesta could brook. She had made up her mind, therefore, what she would do. She would not confide her scheme to her sisters, but after dinner, instead of going to her mother’s room, she would slip out of the house, rush down a side path in the garden, get into the wood, and go off to Flossie’s house. The idea had come into her venturesome brain that morning; but she was quite cautious enough to keep it to herself. She knew well that with regard to such an escapade she would have no sympathy from her elder sisters. They were highly pleased with the complete day of liberty which lay before them. They had planned it delightfully. They were resolved to ask the Carters to have tea with them in the summerhouse at the far end of the garden. They had so often been at the Carters’ house, now it would be their turn to entertain them, and they should have a right good time. They had coaxed Susan, the parlour maid, into their conspiracy, and Susan had proved herself agreeable. She said that hot cakes and several dainty sweets should be forthcoming, and that the two Miss Carters should have as good a tea as she and cook could devise between them.
“But not a word to Marcia,” said Molly, “and for goodness’ sake, not a word to Nesta. She is so greedy that she would be capable of coming down and helping herself to the things in the pantry if she knew.”
Nesta did know, however; for nothing ever went on in that house that she did not contrive to learn all about, but as she herself had a scheme quite ripe for action, she was determined to leave her sisters alone.
“One of them will have to go to mother,” she thought, “and goodness me what a fuss there’ll be. Of course, mother can’t be left alone, and I cannot be got back in a hurry, particularly when Flossie and I’ll be out and away the very minute I get to her house. Marcia is going by train to visit that tiresome Angela St. Just. I heard her telling father so this morning. I wouldn’t be in Molly’s shoes, or in Ethel’s shoes. Yes, it will be Molly’s turn – I wouldn’t be in Molly’s shoes. Dear, dear! What fun it is! It is quite exciting, we live in a continual sort of battle, each of us dodging the others.”
Nesta had to be very careful, and to keep the watchful eyes of her companions from fixing themselves too much on her face.
Marcia came down to lunch that day neatly dressed, with her hat on.
“Did you leave mother to put your hat on?” asked Ethel, in a vindictive tone.
“No, mother helped me to dress. She was most particular. She has very good taste when she likes.”
“She is everything that is good; don’t run her down to us,” said Molly.
They had, it may be perceived, almost dropped the Coventry system. It was tiresome and uninteresting when nobody took any notice of it.
“Nesta, dear,” said Marcia during lunch, “you will be very careful about mother. I think you are going to have a nice afternoon. I have left her so well and comfortable, and so inclined to enjoy herself.”
“Oh, yes,” said Nesta.
“That’s a good girl,” said Marcia. “I see by your face that you are going to make us all happy.”
“I hope so,” replied Nesta.
These remarks would have aroused the suspicions of Molly and Ethel on another occasion, for they would have considered them wonderfully unlike the pert Nesta; but they were absorbed by the thought of their own tea party, and took no notice.
Marcia had to hurry through her lunch in order to catch her train. She told her sisters she would be back about nine o’clock that evening and went away.
“Now, Nesta, it is your turn,” said Molly. “You ought to be going to mother. Do go along and make yourself scarce. Do your duty; it’s no use grumbling. She’s off now for her fill of pleasure, and we cannot get her back. Horrid, mean, spiteful old cat!”
“You can’t be called Miss Mule Selfish for nothing, can you?” said Nesta.
Molly laughed at this.
“Doesn’t it sound funny?” she said. “I’ll tell – ”
She stopped herself. She was about to say that she would tell the Carters, who would keenly relish the joke.
Nesta slipped out of the room. She had already secreted her hat under the stairs. It was soon on her head, and a minute or two later she had dashed down the sidewalk, passed through the wicket gate, and was away through the woods.
The Griffiths lived about three-quarters of a mile away. They were not rich like the Carters, but they had a little house in the opposite suburb of the town, a little house with a fairly big garden, and with woods quite near. Flossie was an only child; she was a great pet with her father and mother, whom she contrived completely to turn round her little finger.
She was standing now at the gate, waiting anxiously for the moment when her darling Nesta would arrive. She and Nesta were to go for a picnic all by themselves to a distant ruin. Flossie was to bring the eatables; Nesta knew nothing of this delectable plan, for Flossie had resolved to keep it a secret all to herself. But now, with her basket packed – that basket which contained tea, milk, sugar, various cakes, a small pot of jam, some bread, and a little pat of butter, as well as a second basket filled with ripe gooseberries – she anxiously waited for her visitor.
By-and-by Nesta was seen. She was running, and looked very untidy, and not like her usually spruce self.
“Dear, dear!” called out Flossie. “How do you do, Nesta? What in the world is the matter? You haven’t put on your best frock or anything.”
“I’m very lucky to be here at all,” said Nesta. “For goodness’ sake don’t speak to me for a minute, until I have got back my breath. I have run all the way, and I am choking – oh, my heart will burst.”
“Lean against me,” said Flossie.
Nesta flung herself against her friend. Flossie was slender and dark, with very curly hair. Nesta was a large girl, built on a generous scale. When she flung herself now against poor Flossie, the latter almost staggered.
“Oh, come,” said Flossie, “not quite so violent as that. Here, let us flop down under this tree. You can take your breath and tell me what it is all about.”
“Oh, I can’t,” said Nesta, who was beginning to recover herself already. “We must be off as fast as possible. Oh, I have had a time of it coming to you. Goodness gracious me, whatever is that?”
She pointed to the tea basket.
“We’re going to Norland’s Cliff, you and I, to have tea all by ourselves. Isn’t it prime? Isn’t it golloptious?” said Flossie.
“Flossie! Has your mother said you might?”
“Yes, yes, of course, she has. I asked her this morning, and she said: ‘Certainly, dear.’”
“But I thought there were donkey races there to-day.”
“There are; but I didn’t say a word about that to mother. She never guessed. Luckily, father was out of the room. It will be much more fun going there to-day, for we’ll see the races; that is if we are quick. But I’m sure, Nesta, I did think you’d come looking a little bit smart, and you’ve got your very oldest hat on too, and that dress.”
“Oh,