Flossie's father was rather proud of her friendship for Nesta Aldworth. He thought a great deal of Mr Aldworth, and spoke of him as a rising man. Oh, yes, it might be worth while to get her father and mother to invite Nesta to join them, and Nesta would have her twenty shillings. Twenty, or nineteen at least, and they might have a great many sprees at Scarborough. It would be delightful. "I tell you what it is," said Flossie. "There's no earthly reason why you should stay at home. I'll just run in this very minute and speak to mother. Why shouldn't you come with us for a week or fortnight?" "Do you think there's any chance?" said Nesta, turning pale. "There's every possible chance. Why in the world shouldn't you come with us? They can't want four of you at home, and it's downright selfish." "The fact is," said Nesta, "they're all agog to get Marcia a holiday." "Your elder sister--Miss Aldworth? The old maid?" "Yes, indeed, she is that, but they all think she is looking pale, and they want her to go to those blessed St Justs. She's hand in glove with them, you know. She thinks of no one else on earth but that Angela of hers." "Well, I'm not surprised at that," said Flossie. "Every one thinks a lot of Angela St Just. Now, don't keep me, I'll rush in and speak to mother." She dashed into the house. The aggrieved mongrel raised a languid head and looked at her. How false she was, with that sugar in her pocket. He wagged a deprecating tail, but Flossie took no notice. She found her mother busily engaged dusting the drawing room. "What is it?" she said. "Are you inclined to come in and help me? This room is in a disgraceful state. I must really change Martha." "Oh, mother, I'll help you another day, but I'm in such a hurry now. Nesta is outside." "I wonder what you'll do without Nesta at the seaside," said the mother. "Oh, mother, do you think you could coax father very hard to let me invite Nesta to come with us just for a week--or even for a fortnight? I wish--I wish you would! Do you think it could be managed?" Mrs Griffiths paused in her work to consider. She was a very frowzy, commonplace woman. She looked out of the window. There stood Nesta, pretty, careless, debonnaire--untidy enough in all truth, but decidedly above the Griffiths in her personal appearance. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. AN UNWELCOME CALLER. "I wouldn't go near her now for all the world," said Flossie, shrinking back. "Oh, my word, Nesta, do get behind this tree. You're a perfect fright, you know, in your very oldest dress and your face as scarlet as a poppy. As to me--I wish I'd put on my Sunday-go-to-meeting frock; it isn't as grand as theirs, but at least it has some fashion about it. But I'm in this dreadful old muslin that I've had for three years, and have quite outgrown. It's awful, it really is. We can't say anything to them to-day, we must go away."