made such an idiotic mistake this morning," she said. "I wonder--ifyou would help me--I scarcely know how to manage."
"Why--what did you do? and what can I do for you! I am sure I shall bequite pleased."
"I forgot to desire the cab from town to return for us. Would you--orcould you--send a message to the livery stables to tell them to comehere at--oh, I don't know what hour we're expected to leave."
"Not until dark--I'm certain, and of course you must have one of thecarriages here. Wait a minute, and I'll speak to my uncle."
Young Hungerford crossed the hall. He met the squire, and said a fewwords to him. The squire slightly raised his brows.
"She ought not to have done it," he said. "I don't much admire thatyoung lady; but of course, Fred, we'll see her home--you just tell herso. And now get off, my dear lad, and enjoy yourself. The Calvertsexpect you and Jim quite early."
"I'll just mention it to Miss Carlton--it'll relieve her, poor thing,"said the young fellow. "She only forgot, you know."
"Not a bit of it," muttered the squire.
But Fred did not hear this remark, and, going back to Brenda, he set hermind at rest on the subject of the carriage.
"It is all right," he said. "And now I must be off, really. There isPauline. Pauline, come along here. Will you take Miss Carlton out tothe others?"
"Please, will you come?" said Pauline.
She did not look too pleased. Brenda was quick to recognise the fact,and, as the boys had all dispersed, she did not find the rest of the dayso agreeable as she had hoped, although the girls did their very utmostfor their visitors. The little Amberleys were really enjoyingthemselves. Even Fanchon forgot that she was anything but a small andignorant girl. She shrieked with laughter when Josie did, and as toNina, she romped round and round wildly with her red hair in its crookedplait and still tied at the end by the piece of string; for all thechildren had forgotten the piece of ribbon which was to have graced itat lunch. Brenda almost cried when she saw her pupil. Her firstimpulse was to call the child to her side, but she restrained herself.She was in too bad humour to care. Nothing that could be done wouldever make the Amberleys look the least like the Hungerfords or theBeverleys, or the Beverleys' friends. There was Mary L'Estrange, withher interesting face, and there was Cara Burt, who looked both haughtyand distinguished. Even she herself was nobody in the midst of thisgroup.
But the strange thing was that Penelope, whom no one took any troubleabout, whose dress was of the very plainest imaginable, seemed quite ather ease and was perfectly friendly with all the other girls.
"But she's such a plain little thing," thought Brenda. "Of course sheis wonderfully fair, but then she has no colour anywhere, nor anydistinguished touches, and that white linen drew doesn't suit her onebit. But all the same, she looks as I don't look--I wish I could makeit out--I hate being in this place, and yet, I must make myselfagreeable, for I want them to ask me again and again."
The long day came to an end, as the longest, brightest days will. Therewas early supper for the children, who did not partake of late dinnerwith their elders. This fact alone somewhat offended Brenda, whothought that there might have been an exception made in her favour; andafter supper, when it was really cool and delightful, Honora came up tothe young lady's side and asked her what hour she would like thewagonette to come round.
"It is our small wagonette, but it'll hold you four nicely," she said."Father tells me that you forgot to order your carriage to return, andof course we are delighted to send you back to Marshlands."
"I should like your carriage at any time that suits yourself," repliedBrenda.
"Will eight o'clock do?" asked Honora.
Brenda made a careful calculation. Harry would probably be going on theEsplanade about eight or soon after. She was quite determined that thecoachman should drive them round in that direction. She meant thecoachman to draw up in order that she might speak to Harry. That, atleast, she might achieve at the end of her long and unsatisfactory day.
So she said, in a meek voice, that she was very, very sorry to troublethe Beverleys, that it was very stupid of her to forget to order her owncarriage to return, that her poor little head did often ache so badlywith the care of her pupils--and so on, and so on, until Honora wonderedwhen her regrets would end.
"It doesn't matter at all," she said, in her pleasant, well-bred voice;"we are delighted to send you back, of course, and I hope you haveenjoyed your day."
"Yes, thank you so much: your home is so delightful--so different frommost places where I have the misfortune to live. And then to see mydarling sister so perfectly happy--I am greatly obliged. I hope," sheadded suddenly, "that you will permit Penelope to come to see us someday at Marshlands. We shan't have much to offer her, but just a heartywelcome and the love of her sister."
"You had best come out here again; it would be fifty times better," saidHonora. "However, you will let us know; and now I'll just run anddesire them to bring the wagonette round. Why, it's five minutes toeight."
Honora ran immediately out of the room and Penelope came in.
"Well, Pen--I've got my way. I managed the carriage, you see, althoughyou, strange, callous little thing, would not ask for it for me. But Ihave a champion in that handsome Fred Hungerford, and I've beenpractically asked here again. But now, look here--you must help mewhether you like it or not. Listen. I shall write to you in a day ortwo asking you to come to spend the day at Palliser Gardens, where weput up. You'll just know what it is if you spend one day with us.You'll know what it is to be stuffy and hot, and to have horrid food,and you'll see our miserable attic bedroom where we sleep all fourtogether. You dare not refuse: you wouldn't be quite so mean as that;and after you've come to us, and have got back again, you've got to makethe worst of it; and then I'll ask you again, and when I ask you thesecond time, you've to see that we come here instead. Well, I thinkthat is all. You know your duty. Whether you are ashamed of me or not,I am your only sister. Oh, here come my little charges: what frights,to be sure! Nina, _do_ put your hat on straight and let me take thatstring from your hair--you utterly ridiculous child!"
Brenda pulled Nina with great firmness towards her, unplaited the shaggymane, and let it fall once more over the child's shoulders. Then thewagonette was heard approaching and Mrs Beverley said good-night to hervisitors, and all the children of the Castle clustered around. Just atthe last instant, Fanchon flew up to Pauline and whispered in her ear:
"I _should_ like to describe my bangle to you, but I--I just--dare not.But thank you for having given us all such a scrumptious day!"
They got into the wagonette. The carriage rolled down the avenue andBrenda immediately enquired of Fanchon what secrets she had been pouringinto little Miss Hungerford's ears.
"Oh, something that concerns--a--a friend of mine," said Fanchon,looking wicked and mysterious; and Brenda suddenly remembered the bangleand felt crosser than ever. But, after all, she had her consolation,for the band was playing its very best as they passed the Esplanade, andthere was Harry standing talking and smoking with some other men.Brenda immediately pulled the check string and beckoned him. He cameforward in delight and confusion.
"I shall be too tired to see you this evening, Mr Jordan," said Brenda."Drive on please, coachman. We have been having a delightful day," shecalled out, as the man took her at her word, "at Castle Beverley."
"She _is_ a stunner!" said Joe Burbery to his friend. "And what swellsshe knows! I say, old man, I have seldom seen such a ripping girl!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
GATHERING CLOUDS.
Mrs Dawson was seated with that copy of the _Standard_ which containedthe advertisement for the gold bangle open on her knee. She had readthe advertisement not only once, but twice. There was a reward offeredfor the recovery of the trinket of no less than three guineas. Thatseemed a very large sum of money to honest Mrs Dawson. She thought howacceptable it would be, and wished that the lost trinket might come inher
way.
While she was ruminating, without quite knowing whether she would takeany active steps, Jane, one of the house servants, entered and said thata lady wanted to know if there was a vacant room in the house.
"Oh, tell her there isn't," said Mrs Dawson rather crossly. "There'snothing whatever except the back attic--the one just behind the largeattic where Miss Carlton and the three Miss Amberleys sleep. Wecouldn't put any one there, it's so choky and hot these sultry days."
Jane departed, but presently returned with the information that the ladydid not mind what the room was like in the least and would be very gladto see