She left the telegram for her two sisters to devour between them, and took Angela away. The moment they were alone, Marcia sank down on a chair; tears rose to her eyes--she did not know that they were there-- one overflowed and rolled down her cheek. Angela looked at her steadily. "It is quite hopeless," she said. "Think of her doing that!" "Doing what? Remember I have not seen the telegram." "She says she is all right, and we are to expect her when we see her. She has gone to Scarborough; she has run away. She is with the Griffiths, of course. What is to be done with a girl of that sort?" "Marcia, you are wearing yourself out for them." "I am, and it is hopeless. What am I to say to mother? How am I to put it to her?" "You must tell her that Nesta will not be back until the morning; that she is quite safe. In the morning you must tell her the truth." "How can I possibly tell her the truth?" "You must." "Oh, Angela! it is hopeless; those girls seem to have no hearts. I did think after mother was so ill that they had turned over a new leaf; I was full of hope, and Nesta seemed the most impressed; but see what this means. She has gone away; she has left us all in misery. What a day we have had! and now, at the eleventh hour, when she thought we could not possibly send for her, she sends this. What am I to do?" "You must just go on hoping and praying, and trusting and believing," said Angela. "My dear Marcia, twenty things ought not to shake a faith like yours." "Well, at any rate, she is not in bodily danger; but what a terrible revelation of her character! She must have planned all this. She knew that father was away, and that Horace was away, and she fully expected that I should also be away. She had a kind of vague hope that the girls would not open the telegram. You see how she has laid her plans. She knows in the end she must be recalled, but she is determined to have as much pleasure as she can." "Marcia," said Molly, putting in her head at that moment, "supper is ready. Shall we go in?" They went into the dining-room. Angela ate little; she did not perceive the efforts the two younger Aldworths had made in her honour; the presence of the best dinner service, the best glass, the fact that the coffee--real Mocha coffee--was served in real Sevres china. She ate little, thinking all the time of Marcia, who was as unobservant of external things as her friend. "Now, you will come up to see mother," said Marcia, when the meal was over. "Yes; let me. I will tell her about Nesta--I mean as much as she need know to-night." Marcia took her friend upstairs. Mrs Aldworth was tired. Her day had not been satisfactory, and she still wanted that one thing which she could not get--the presence of her round, fair, apparently good-natured youngest daughter. When Marcia opened the door, she called out to her: "Dear me, Marcia! I thought you were going?" "No, mother; I am not going to-night."