think you a fearfully plain girl, Penelope," said hersister, "and of course you are plain. But you are mixing in such goodsociety that it is beginning to affect you. You seem to me to haveundergone a sort of transformation. You are--of course you're quiteugly still; but you are--I can't explain what it is--different from therest of us."
"You don't look too happy, Brenda," was Penelope's next remark.
"I happy?" answered Brenda. "Oh--I'm well enough."
"We're very happy at the Castle," continued Penelope. "Honora is sosweet, and all the other children are nice, and--I wish you could knowsomething of our life--it is a little bit higher than this, somehow."
Brenda kicked a pebble restlessly away with the toe of her smart shoe.
"I am not suited for that sort of life," she said. "I don't care foryour Castle, but all the same, I think you may as well get me invitedthere again. What day can we come?"
"I don't know: how can I get invitations for you?"
"You'll be perfectly horrid if you don't--it is your duty to give yourown, own sister a good time."
"Oh, Brenda--if only you'd be different!"
"I don't want to be different, thank you; I enjoy myself, on the whole,very well."
"You don't look too happy: you seem sort of worried," and Penelope gavea sigh and laid her hand on Brenda's arm.
"When _he_ proposes, it'll be all right," said Brenda. "It was onaccount of him that I wanted you to stay. I don't want to be governessany more. I want to be married and to have my fun like other girls; andhe is awfully rich--Oh--I do declare! Yes--it is--why, there is MrFred Hungerford and his brother!"
Brenda bridled, and drew herself up. Young Hungerford approached. Hetook off his hat to both the girls, and presently he and his brother andBrenda and Penelope were chatting in the most amicable way together.
While they were thus employed--Brenda's face now radiant with smiles,her eyes bright with merriment, and even Penelope laughing and chattingin the most natural way in the world--who should pass by but HarryJordan and his friend, Joe Burbery. Brenda felt that she would like tocut Harry Jordan at that moment. She contented herself, however, withthe very stiffest inclination of her head. Fred followed her gaze, andfavoured Joe with the slightest perceptible nod.
"How is it you know that bounder?" he said, turning to Brenda as hespoke.
Brenda coloured deeply.
"I just know him slightly," she said, "do you?"
"Why, yes--of course. He is the son of a small draper in our town. Iused to meet him when I was a schoolboy on my way to school everymorning, and I think mother sometimes gets odds and ends at Jordan'sshop. They're fifth-rate tradespeople, and I don't believe theirbusiness is very extensive."
Brenda felt a coldness stealing round her heart. Was this theexplanation--the true explanation--with regard to her merchant prince?After a minute, during which she thought swiftly, she said:
"He has had the audacity to speak to me, but of course I shan't noticehim in future."
"I wouldn't if I were you," said Fred. "He is in no sense of the word agentleman. Well, I must be off. Penelope, I know the carriage iscoming for you at seven o'clock. Will you be ready?"
"Yes, quite," answered Penelope.
The two Hungerford boys disappeared, and the two Carlton girls sat sideby side on the quay. People passed and repassed. Penelope was lost inthought. She was anxious about Brenda, and yet she did not know what todo for her sister. Brenda's thoughts were so fast and furious that theyneed scarcely be described. After a minute, she said:
"On the whole, you are doing right to go back to your Castle and yourgrand friends this evening."
"Of course I am doing right," said Penelope.
"And," continued Brenda, "I shan't be married just at present. PerhapsI may some day, for I suppose I am pretty."
"You are very, very pretty, Brenda."
"Yes, but not with your style, and not like the sort of folks you know."
"I only know them for a short time, Brenda. But I do hope that the timespent at Hazlitt Chase will enable me always to act as a lady; for wewere born ladies, dear," she added; and she touched Brenda on her arm.
Brenda clutched Penelope's arm in response to this greeting with afeverish grip.
"You are all right," she said; "but I can never go back."
"What do you mean?"
"I am wrong from first to last. I made a great mistake and I can'texplain it. Let's come home; don't worry about me. You will do well inlife."
"I love you fifty thousand times better than I have loved you since wemet on break-up day," was Penelope's response. "When you talk likethis, you seem like the sister I lost long ago; but when you are stuckup and proud and vainglorious, then my feelings for you alter. If youwere in trouble, in real trouble, Brenda, and I could help you, Iwould."
"I daresay," said Brenda. Then she gave a light laugh. "But I am notin trouble," she said, "I'm as jolly as a sand-boy. Do let's come back;it is so silly to pay for our tea out-of-doors when Mademoiselle makesthe very nicest little confections for us to partake of at home."
There was a particularly nice afternoon tea that day in Mrs Dawson'sdrawing-room. That drawing-room, until Mademoiselle had appeared on thescene, was truly a room to be avoided. The western sun used to flood itwith its rays. The windows were seldom properly opened. What flowersthere were lacked water and were half dead in their vases. Thefurniture wanted dusting and arranging. There were generally brokentoys about, which the small Simpkinses used to leave behind them intheir wake. As likely as not, when you sank into a chair, you foundyourself annoyed by a baby's rattle or a very objectionable india-rubberdoll. In short, the drawing-room was never esteemed by the boarders.But lo, and behold! Since Mademoiselle had come to Palliser Gardens,this same drawing-room was transformed. Were there not green Venetianblinds to the windows? What so easy as to pull them down? Why shouldnot the drooping withered flowers be replaced by fresh ones which, by ajudicious management of leaves and grasses, could give a cool and airyeffect? Then Mademoiselle had a knack of squirting the Venetian blindswith cold water, which gave a delicious dampness and fragrance at thesame time in the room. The curtains, too, were sometimes slightlydrawn, and the furniture was all neatly arranged; and the tea--that was_recherche_ itself--of such good flavour, so admirably made; thenMademoiselle was always fresh, always bright and presentable, standingby the little tea equipage, dispensing the very light, but reallyrefreshing viands. Mademoiselle made one very gentle stipulation. Itwas this: that the small Simpkinses, the treasured babies of theestablishment, should not come down to afternoon tea. Mrs Simpkinsgrumbled, but finally confessed that it was a comfort not to haveGeorgie tugging at her skirt, and Peter laying his hot head on her broadchest, and demanding "more, more," incessantly. In short, the littleparty became in the very best of humours at the meal that was hithertosuch a signal failure in Mrs Dawson's drawing-room.
They all met on this special day, and Mademoiselle cast more than oneearnest glance at her late pupil, Penelope Carlton, and then, with asmile hovering round her lips, poured tea into the delicate cups andhanded it round, always with a smile and a gentle compliment to eachlady boarder. Mrs Dawson was not present at this delightful littlerepast, for Mademoiselle insisted on the poor tired woman having a cupof tea all by herself and then lying down and sleeping until suppertime.
Mrs Dawson was now completely in Mademoiselle's clever hands, and didprecisely what that good woman wished. When the meal was over, theparty again dispersed, but not before Mademoiselle had stolen up toPenelope's side and said quietly:
"_Mon enfant_, when do you take your departure?"
"I expect the wagonette at seven o'clock," replied Penelope.
"And you will be, _peut-etre_, alone?"
"I think so."
"That is good," was Mademoiselle's reply. Then she vanished to suggestsome particularly soothing application for Peter Simpkins' swollen gums.
At last the hour arriv
ed when Penelope was to go. She bade her sistergood-bye, and also the three little Amberleys, who regretted herdeparture without quite knowing why. A moment later, she had steppedinto the wagonette and was being driven out of the town in the directionof Castle Beverley. The carriage had borne her just outside thesuburbs, when a neat-looking black-robed figure appeared in the verymiddle of the King's highway, imperatively demanding that the coachmanshould stop his horses. This the man, in some surprise, did.Mademoiselle then approached Penelope's side.
"I have