come to us. It was Brenda herself who spoke of her last night. Shedid not mention her name, but she must have had her in her mind. She isbetween forty and fifty if she's a day, and she wears spectacles and hasa cast in her eye and she's a perfect terror. If we get poor Brendaaway, we don't go to the sea, and Juggins comes. It's because ofJuggins that I believe in Brenda--it is really."
This frank avowal of the cause of her belief had a great influence onthe other girls. Josephine sat quite still, evidently in deep thought.Nina lay back against her pillows.
"It would be awful to have Juggins!" she said, after a pause, "she wouldbe worse than Brenda."
"She would be honest, though," said Josephine.
"Oh, yes--that she would. But think of our fun and--and--we know enoughabout Brenda now to force her to give us a good time."
"I think, girls, we had best accept the situation," was Fanchon's finaljudgment.
Whatever the other girls might have remarked, and whatever their resolvewould have been, must be left partly to conjecture. But somethingoccurred at that moment to cause them to come altogether to Fanchon'spoint of view; for, just at that instant, there was a tap at Nina'sdoor, and who should walk in but--Miss Jemima Juggins herself!
She came close up to Nina's bedside, and asked abruptly where theReverend Josiah was.
"Why are you lying in bed, you lazy child?" she said. "What is thematter?"
Now certainly Miss Juggins made a great contrast to pretty Brenda, and,when she removed her blue glasses and fixed her rather crooked eyes onNina, Nina made up her mind on the spot to believe in Brenda, inMarshlands, in the pretty clothes which were yet to be bought, in a goodtime by the sea.
"I will go and find papa," said Fanchon. "I know he'll be glad to seeyou, Miss Juggins."
"I hope he will, indeed," said Miss Juggins. "I have come to speak tohim on business. I want a new situation. How untidy your room is,girls! Shameful, I call it--three great hulking lasses like you not tobe able to keep your own bedroom straight! But get your father at once,please, Fanny."
"My name is Fanchon," said that young lady. "Fanny--I prefer to callyou; I hate French names." Fanchon withdrew. The Reverend Josiah wasdiscovered, and was borne up to little Nina's room. Miss Juggins wasseated by the bed.
"How do you do!" she said when the rector entered. "You don't mind myfinding my way about this house, I hope, Mr Amberley, seeing that Iknew your sainted wife so well. I came to ask you if you could find mea situation. This child is a little ill from overeating, and ought toget up and take a good walk. I will go down with you to your study, MrAmberley, for I must have a private talk. Good-bye, children. Take myadvice, and tidy up your room. Really, Rector, you don't bring yourgirls up at all in the way their dear mother would have liked."
The door slammed behind Miss Juggins. The girls looked at each other.
"We mustn't get rid of Pussy-cat," said Nina then. "_She_ would befifty times worse. Well, I'll keep the sums awfully carefully, andI'll--"
"You'll have to believe in her, you know, and try to be agreeable," saidFanchon.
"Oh--any fate in preference to Juggins!" was Josephine's remark.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
A SURPRISE INVITATION.
On the morning after the prize-giving day at Hazlitt Chase, Peneloperose with a headache. There was a great deal of bustle and excitementin the school, for nearly all the girls were going to their severalhomes on that special morning. Penelope and Mademoiselle d'Etiennewould have the beautiful old house to themselves before twenty-fourhours were over.
Penelope did not in the least care for Mademoiselle; she was notespecially fond of her school life, but she detested those long andendless holidays which she spent invariably at Hazlitt Chase.
To-day all was in disorder. The usual routine of school life was over.The children were some of them beside themselves with the thought of therailway journey and the home-coming in the evening. Somebody shouted toPenelope to hurry with her dressing, in order to help to get off thelittle ones. The smaller children, including the two littleHungerfords, were to go in a great omnibus to the station and beconducted by a governess to their different homes in various parts ofEngland.
Pauline Hungerford suddenly rushed into the room where Penelope wasstanding.
"Helen of Troy," she said.
"Oh, please don't!" said Penelope. "I am _not_ Helen of Troy--I don'twish to be called by that odious name."
"But you _were_ so beautiful!" said little Pauline. "Do you know thatwhile we were looking at you, even Nellie forgot about her bracelet; butshe's crying like anything over the loss of it this morning. It isquite too bad."
"Yes, indeed it is," said Penelope. "I do trust your mother will takesteps to get it back. I hear that some of the railway officials weresupposed to have stolen it."
"Oh dear," said Pauline, "how wicked of them! What awful people theymust be! Who told you that, Penelope?"
"Well, it was mentioned to me by my sister, who came here yesterday.You saw her, of course?"
"Yes--she was talking a lot to my brother. She is very pretty; ofcourse--of course I saw her. And she says it was the railway people whostole it? I will tell mother that the very instant I get back. But oh,please, Penelope, Honora wants you; she said you promised to go to herroom before ten, and she would be so glad if you would go at once--willyou?"
"Yes, I will go," said Penelope.
She had forgotten Honora's words, being absorbed in her own melancholythoughts. It now occurred to her, however, that she might as well keepher promise to the pretty girl who ought to have been Helen of Troy.She went slowly down the passage, tapped at Honora's door, and enteredher bedroom. The young lady was just dressed for her journey. She woredainty white pique and a pretty hat to match. She looked fair and freshand charming.
"I am just off--I have hardly a minute," she said. "I want to ask agreat favour of you, Penelope."
"What is that?" said Penelope.
She spoke ill-naturedly. She felt the contrast between them. Shealmost disliked Honora for her beauty on this occasion.
"It is this," said Honora. "I have been asking mamma--and she says Imay do it. Will you come and stay with us for part of the holidays?"
"I!" said Penelope--amazement in her face.
"Yes. We live at Castle Beverley: it is not very far fromMarshlands-on-the-Sea."
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Penelope, clasping her hands. "Why, it is there mysister is going."
"Then of course you can see her; that will be nice. But will you come?I will write to fix the day after I get home. I _should_ like you tohave a good time with us. We shall be quite a big party--boys andgirls, oh,--a lot of us, and I think there'll be no end of fun. Thelittle Hungerfords are coming, and Fred. Fred is such a nice boy. Willyou come, Penelope? Do say `Yes.'"
Penelope's eyes suddenly filled with tears.
"Will I come!" she said. "Why, I'd just love it beyond anything. Oh,you _are_ good! Do you ask me because you pity me?"
"Well--yes, perhaps a little," said Honora, colouring at this directquestion--"but also because I want to like you. I know you are worthliking. No one who could look as you did last night could be unworthy.It was after I saw you that I asked mamma; and she said: most certainlyyou should come. It will probably be next week: I will write you fixingthe day as soon as ever I get home. And now, I must be off. Good-bye,dear. You may be certain I will do my very utmost to give you a reallyhappy time."
Honora bent her stately head, pressed a little kiss on Penelope'sforehead, and the next minute had left her. Penelope's first impulsehad been to rush downstairs; but she restrained herself. She sat downon Honora's vacant bed and pressed her hand to her forehead.
"Fun for me,"--she thought--"for me! I shan't have lonely holidays. Ishall go to one of the nicest houses in England, and be with nicepeople, good people, true people. There's Brenda--of course I wish--Ido wish Brenda were _not_ at Marshlands; but I suppose I _can't_
haveeverything. I wish--I wish I could understand Brenda. Why did sheforce me to get all that money for her? I wonder if any of the girlswho gave it me will be there. Well, well--I won't be disagreeable--I amgoing to have a jolly time--I, who never have any fun. Oh, I am glad--Iam very glad!"
About an hour later, the great house of Hazlitt Chase seemed quitesilent and empty. Except for some housemaids who went to the differentrooms in order to fold up the sheets and put away the blankets and takethe curtains down from the windows and generally reduce the spotless,dainty chambers to the immaculate