have a second, but I shall be very busy allday."
"Will there be gentlemen present?" asked Brenda.
"Oh--certainly. The brothers and cousins and fathers and uncles of thepupils."
"I don't care anything at all about the fathers and uncles, but I shouldlike to be introduced to some of the brothers and cousins."
"Well, I daresay that can be managed--"
"Penelope--do come!" called Cara's voice in the distance, and Penelope,accompanied by her sister, had to fly downstairs.
A few minutes later, Brenda found herself in the wide, open court. Shewas partly sheltered by a great awning. Here the prizes were to begiven away, a few speeches were to be made, and a few recitations givenby some of the most accomplished girls and teachers.
No one took any special notice of her, and this acute young persondiscovered that if she did not play her own cards well and immediately,she would be out of the fun. Now, this was the last thing she wished.The slight feeling of discomfort which had arisen in her breast when shesaw Honora Beverley in her simple and exquisite dress had vanished: thecolour brightened in her cheeks; she felt assured that she looked well,and assuredly she was pretty, although second-class.
She deliberately took a seat near two young men who were brothers of twoof the older girls. She asked one of them quite an innocent question,to which he replied. She decided that he was good-looking and that shecould have a pleasant day in his company, and immediately requested him,in that simple and pathetic voice which always so strongly appealed tothe Reverend Josiah, to tell her all about the company--who was who, andwhat was what. She said that she herself was a lonely girl who had comefrom a distance to behold her dear sister in that exquisite creation,Helen of Troy. She talked of Helen as though she had been that goodwoman's intimate friend from her youth up, and managed to impress bothyoung men with a lively sense of her pleasantness and her frank, daringsort of beauty.
Presently, one of the little Hungerford girls came along. She belongedto the smaller girls of the school. She came straight up to the youngman who was talking to Brenda, and, leaning against him, said in adisconsolate voice:
"It is quite lost; mother did promise that I should have it. Paulinehas got hers--hers has a ruby clasp, but mine with the blue turquoisecan't be found anywhere!"
"Why, what is it, Nelly?" said the young man. "Nelly, may I introduceyou to this young lady."
"My name is Carlton--Brenda Carlton. I am the sister of your friendPenelope, who is to be Helen of Troy," said Brenda. "Is anything wrong,dear?" she continued, speaking kindly, and bending forward so as almostto caress the child by her manner.
Young Hungerford's dark face quite flushed, and he made room for hislittle sister to sit between him and Brenda for a minute.
"Tell her--perhaps she will know. Now that I remember, she drove up inthe victoria with mother from the station."
"It is my bangle!" said Nelly. "Mother brought one for me, and theother for Pauline. Mine had a turquoise clasp. She got them from Parisand they are so very, very, very pretty; and Pauline is wearing hers,and mine is gone!"
"Oh, but--how provoking! It must be found, of course," said Brenda,putting on an air of great sympathy, and wondering how she could get itout of her own pocket without suspicion being directed to her.
Her first impulse was simply to say to the child: "I wonder if I knowanything about it," and then to tell how she had picked it up. ButNellie Hungerford's next remark prevented her doing so.
"Mother is quite certain that she lost it in the train, for sheremembers taking the parcel out when she was looking for some sandwichesin her bag; she noticed then that the string was loose. Mother isconvinced that she lost it in the train. Oh dear! oh dear! I shouldnot mind quite so badly if Pauline was not wearing hers. There, Fred--do you see her?" continued the little girl. "It is shining on her arm,and that horrid ruby is gleaming like a bit of fire. I am miserablewithout mine and, although mother will get me another, it won't be atall the same thing not wearing it on break-up day."
"Well, dear--it cannot be helped now," said the brother, "and I see oneof the teachers calling you. I suppose you must take your place. Youlook very nice indeed, Nellie, and no one will miss the bangle."
"Do I really look nice?" asked Nellie, fixing her pretty eyes on herbrother's face.
"Of course you do," he answered.
"You look charming, Miss Hungerford," suddenly interposed Brenda, "andif I may venture to give an opinion, I prefer little girls withoutbangles."
This was a remark which at once pleased young Hungerford and displeasedhis sister.
"I suppose my mamma knows what little girls ought to wear," she saidwith great dignity, and then she moved off to take her seat amid theother girls.
When she was gone, Brenda felt a curious flutter at her heart. If MrsHungerford was sure that she had lost her bangle in the train, why needwicked Brenda ever return it to her? Surely, she might keep it as herown delightful possession. She might wear it at Marshlands-on-the-Sea,and attract the attention of that most desirable youth whom she hoped tosecure as her future husband.
"Do you know--I quite agree with you," said a voice in her ear.
She turned to confront the dark eyes of Fred Hungerford.
"What about?" she asked, forgetting herself for the moment.
"I would rather my little sisters did not wear ornaments while they areso young, but mother was specially anxious to please them, and insistedon buying the bangles when we were in Paris a fortnight ago. They werevery pretty and simple of their kind, and, I know, good too. Theturquoise one, strange to say, was the more expensive of the two.Mother would have liked to get a turquoise for each, but they are suchan untidy pair she felt certain one would get lost, and so decided thatPauline should be responsible for the ruby, and dear little Nellie forthe turquoise. Then, I wanted her to have them sent to the children byregistered post, instead of bringing them to-day, but she wouldn't. Shewouldn't even bring them in boxes, but just slipped them into a piece oftissue paper the last moment, and, of course, one of them has got lost!"
"Do you think it is likely to be found?" asked Brenda.
"I should say most unlikely; unless one of the officials happened to seeit before somebody else got into the carriage. It is exactly the sortof thing which an unscrupulous person would pick up and keep."
"An unscrupulous person!" echoed Brenda.
"Well--yes. Of course you look so innocent and so--so--young, that ofcourse you cannot be a bit aware of the fact that there are lots ofdishonest persons in the world. Poor, dear little Nell! Well, she willcheer up in a minute, and forget all about it."
Brenda leaned back in her seat. She had now quite made up her mind tokeep the bracelet. All she had to do was never to wear it in thepresence of the Hungerfords, whom she was scarcely likely to see again,or in the presence of her sister, Penelope. But she could make good useof it at Marshlands-on-the-Sea.
The events of the day began and continued, and Brenda enjoyed herselfvastly. Young Mr Hungerford introduced her to one or two friends ofhis, and during the entire day she hardly spoke to a schoolgirl or to awoman of any sort. The ladies who were present by no means admired her.The schoolgirls themselves had no time to give her a thought. Thecrowning scene of the day was to be "A Dream of Fair Women," which wasput on with exquisite effect; the scene being a dusky wood, with themoonlight shining through. Even Brenda felt moved as she watched thecurtain rise over the little act, and observed, for the first time, withparticular attention Mrs Hazlitt's noble face and figure as she stoodin the shadowy part of the background and began to recite Tennyson'swords:
"At last methought that I had wandered far In an old wood: fresh wash'd in coolest dew The maiden splendours of the morning star Shook in the steadfast blue.
"...
"And from within a clear undertone Thrilled through mine ears in that unblissful clime, `Pass freely thro': the wood is all thine own, Until the end of time.'
>
"At length I saw a lady within call, Stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there; A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, And most divinely fair."
There was a stir of surprise from the audience, as the girlish figurewas dimly discernible: the hair glittering in its fairness, the eyessoft, and yet full of hidden fire, the whole attitude one of extremegrace. For Penelope's soul had been fired with the music of that greatsong of songs; and the arrangement of the stage, the simplicity of thedress, the marvellous effects of light and shade had produced what--invery truth--seemed to be that very Helen who had driven men mad withlove and longing so many centuries ago. Even Brenda held her breath.Wonder filled her soul, an emotion quite new to her stirred in