won't tell?"
"Of course I won't tell."
Pauline spoke in an offended, off-hand manner. She was not at all takenwith Fanchon.
"Come," she said, "I won't tell about your bangle, and you will ask yoursisters not to mention mine. Now we must join the others. They'regoing to have a game I know, under the trees."
Fanchon followed her companion. She felt a queer sense of excitement,but not the most remote suspicion of the real truth entered her mind.
Meanwhile Honora, who wished to do everything in her power to make hervisitors happy, arranged that Brenda and Penelope should be left quiteundisturbed together. Penelope was not too happy at this idea, but asshe could not possibly make any excuse for avoiding her dear Brenda, shewas obliged to submit to it.
"Why are we to be left all alone?" said Brenda, whose restless eyes hadroved over the entire company, and had evidently thought Penelope theperson least worth conversing with.
"It is Honora," replied Penelope at once. "She thinks that, as we aresisters, we ought to be glad to have a little time together all byourselves. After lunch at one--we can join the others if you wish it."
"Of course I wish it," said Brenda. "I have nothing special to say toyou, Penelope; have you anything special to say to me?"
"No, nothing at all," said Penelope, a lump coming into her throat.
"Well, shall we join the others, then! There are such a lot of themtalking under that oak tree."
"It might look a little queer," said Penelope, "and lunch will be quitesoon. Let's walk about under these trees; we shall be quite in theshade."
"Well--if we are to appear devoted sisters, let us play the part," saidBrenda, crossly. "After all," she added, after a moment's reflection,"I am glad to have a few words with you, Pennie, for I want you to helpme all you possibly can."
"I can't do anything more, I really can't," said Penelope, her eyesgrowing dark with alarm. "I got you that twenty pounds, and I don'tthink I shall ever be happy again!"
"Oh--what a little goose you are! How you harp upon that trifle!--andhow far do you think twenty pounds will go in the case of a girl whowants every single thing that a girl ought to have? I thought thisdress,"--Brenda looked at her spotted white muslin--"was really quite`chic' until I saw Honora Beverley's. I must say I don't like HonoraBeverley--of course you won't whisper it, darling--but she alwaysmanages to put me in the shade. On the day of your fete when I wore mypale blue silk, her real Parisian lace made me look commonplace. Andnow, to-day, her white muslin must have cost pounds more than mine. Itis disgusting to be trammelled like this, and I am sure I am fifty timesprettier."
"Don't, Brenda!" said Penelope, suddenly. As she spoke, she laid herhand on her sister's arm.
"What do you mean by `don't'? Why do you look at me in that queer way?"
"Because I can't bear you to talk like that--what's the good of fightingand struggling for the impossible? You are not born in Honora's rank oflife, and you can never aim at dressing like her. You look very--yes,very--"
"You needn't say it!" said Brenda, her eyes flashing with passion. "Iknow what you think of me--I saw it in your face when I came up. Youare ashamed of me! It's a nice thing for one sister to be ashamed ofanother, and I do my best--my very best--and you know what I wanted thatmoney for--you know it quite well. I could cry, but it would spoil myeyes, and my eyes are my best point I mustn't shed a tear, though tearsare choking me, and I could--oh--I could sob--at your treating me likethis, when you know, too--"
"What do I know, Brenda? Brenda, what have I done?"
"You show it all in your voice, and in your eyes, and in your manner--you're bitterly ashamed of me!"
"I should be very simple in my dress, if I were in your place," saidPenelope, "that is all."
"What can be simpler in all the world than sprigged white muslin withblue ribbons and a blue straw hat with blue bows to match? If I couldthink for ever, I could not imagine anything simpler."
"But all the blue ribbons--there are such a lot of them, Brenda. With awhite hat, it would have been sweet. But, never mind--of course you'revery pretty."
"Thank you for nothing, my dear--I don't owe my face to you, and Iwouldn't change it for yours, I can tell you."
"But tell me what you mean, for indeed, indeed I would help you, in theright way, all I could."
"I hate that solemn, sanctimonious manner in which you are getting tospeak. You used to be such a nice, loving little thing, and for _you_to reproach me for asking you to struggle to get me a miserable twentypounds--why, you know I told you that I hoped to be engaged soon. Ifthat comes off--and I see every likelihood of it, for he is very_empresse_--I shall have as many jewels and dresses and furbelows asyour precious Honora, and perhaps more. And I'll be able to help you,so you'd better not cast me aside."
"Am I casting you off, Brenda? This is only my second day at CastleBeverley, and you and your pupils are spending it here."
"Yes, I know that, and I suppose I ought not to complain. But the factis, it does make me cross to see the difference between this place andthe horrid den in which I have to live at Marshlands-on-the-Sea. Ishall get Harry--his name is Harry, but you mustn't breathe it--to buy acastle like this for me to live in when I am married. He can wellafford it, for he is a--"
"Is his name Harry?" asked Penelope, impressed by what seemed to her theromance of a real love story.
"Yes--I told you so."
"And his surname?"
"I had better not breathe that yet. You mustn't know him really untilwe are properly engaged. He is exceedingly good-looking, of the blondtype. He is--oh--somebody who will probably be a baronet. They makevery rich City magnates--I think they are called--baronets now, and Ishall be Lady--oh, I mustn't breathe the name. But listen; I want himto come to the point."
"Why--hasn't he asked you yet?" exclaimed Penelope.
"Hush, child! don't talk so loud! What an indelicate way you have ofapproaching the subject; you take the bloom off it--you really do. Butyou know, notwithstanding his enormous wealth, he has lofty ideas, andwould be greatly impressed if he thought I was thick with the peoplehere; so I want you to have me asked very often. And there's anotherthing; I should so like you to have us sent back in one of the carriagesthis evening."
"Oh, Brenda! Didn't you desire the carriage you came in to call foryou?"
"Of course I didn't--you horrid little thing! Do you suppose I can runto the expense? Really, Penelope, you are too trying. I didn't desirethe carriage to call--certainly not. If these grand people will seetheir humble visitors walking back to Marshlands in the heat of asummer's evening, why, they must--that's all. I should have thoughtthat my sister could have managed differently."
"I can't--I can't," said Penelope. "I hate asking favours. They'reso--just more than--kind. Couldn't we send a message to Marshlands? Iam sure a servant will be going in after lunch and I--I--would pay--I'vegot a few shillings."
But this idea did not at all suit Brenda.
"No," she said stoutly. "Nothing will induce me to take your money. Ifwe're not driven in, in one of the Beverley carriages--we'll walk--we'llarrive dusty and worn out, and wretched at Mrs Dawson's--that is ourlandlady's odious name. But what I really desire is to have one of theBeverley carriages, and for--for my Harry to see me in it. I do thinkit would have a most excellent effect on him; he is so wonderfullyimpressed by real style--I never knew anything like it."
"Well," said Penelope, "I really don't know how it is to be done.There's the gong for lunch. Shall we go into the house!"
Neither girl looked too happy during this meal; but Brenda contrived toget herself placed at table as far as possible from Penelope and as nearto Fred as she could. She joked and laughed with Fred Hungerford, andhe thought her a very pretty girl indeed. After lunch, however, he andhis brother were obliged to go to Marshlands to see some friends. Hementioned this fact with regret to Brenda, who had hoped that he wasgoing to be her partner in a game of
tennis.
"I can't," he said--"it is a long engagement, and I can't break it. Ishould like to awfully; but of course you'll come another day; I know myaunt will be delighted to ask you. We're so glad to have your sisterwith us--we think she is such a very nice girl."
"So she is--a sweet girl--a noble girl," said Brenda. She lookedthoughtfully round her: there was no one exactly in sight.
"I