Now Harry Jordan happened to be a sleek, fat youth of about twenty years of age. He was well off, in fact he was doing a thriving trade in the draper’s business, but in a distant town. Brenda had not the least idea what his business was. He told her vaguely that he was in business, and she pictured him to herself as a merchant prince, and who in all the world could be more honourable than one of the merchant princes of England? But, be that as it may, she enjoyed Harry Jordan’s admiration, and if he were to like her well enough to ask her to marry him, why – she would probably say yes, for it would be infinitely better than remaining as governess at thirty pounds a year to Mr Amberley’s little daughters. Now, Harry was a youth who enjoyed a flirtation as much as anybody, and as Brenda had hinted that they could not be perfectly free and happy if Fanchon was listening, he brought a friend of his along – a certain Joe Burbery – to engage the attentions of that young lady. Accordingly, the four met, and Joe Burbery, a most sickly youth of seventeen, was introduced to both ladies, and after Brenda had said one or two words to him, quite enough to turn his head, he was deputed to his rightful place by Fanchon’s side, who racked her brains in her vain endeavour to say a word to him at all, and would have figuratively stuck in the mud altogether, but for his loud exclamation of delight when he saw her bracelet.
“I say!” exclaimed the youth, “what an elegant article – is it real?”
“Real!” said Fanchon, facing him with her little eyes flashing. “It’s eighteen carat.”
“Oh, is it?” said Joe. “I see. I never touched eighteen carat in my life – more likely to be nine carat.”
He winked hard at Fanchon as he spoke. Fanchon, in her rage, took the bracelet off and asked him to examine the hall-mark under the next lamp-post, which he accordingly proceeded to do. He discovered that she was right and handed it back to her with great respect. “How did you come by it?” was his next enquiry. “It is a present – I mustn’t say how I came by it.”
“Eighteen carat gold,” – murmured Joe Burbery. “Eighteen carat, and a very large and specially fine turquoise. Why, there’s a thing advertised for exactly like that. I remember it quite well; I saw it in the Standard and the Morning Post and even in some of the local papers here – a bangle just like this which was lost – supposed to be lost in a railway carriage. How funny that you should have one which so exactly answers to the description!”
“It is, isn’t it?” said Fanchon, laughing with the utmost unsuspicion. “Well,” she continued, “I am glad mine isn’t lost; I am frightfully proud of it; I shall love it all my days; I don’t mean ever to part from it. Even if I get a very rich husband some day, and he gives me lots of jewellery, I will always keep my beautiful bangle. Brenda says that it is the sort you need never be ashamed of.”
“It is that,” admitted Joe. “So she admires it —she knows a good thing when she sees it, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, yes – she is very clever – ”
“And a stunner herself, ain’t she now?” said Joe Burbery.
“I suppose so,” replied Fanchon, who did not feel interested in praises of Brenda from the first young man who had come into her life. He ought to be too much devoted to her and her most elegant bangle.
The walk came to an end presently. It was necessary in Mrs Dawson’s establishment for the young ladies to come in not later than half-past ten, and at that hour the two girls appeared in the hall. Mrs Dawson herself was waiting for them. As she proceeded to lock and chain the front door, she also saw the flash of the bangle on Fanchon’s wrist. She immediately exclaimed at its beauty, and asked to have a nearer view of it.
“Why, I say,” she cried, “what a truly elegant thing! Does it belong to you, Miss Amberley?”
“Yes,” replied Fanchon. “It was given to me by a great friend.”
Here she looked meaningly at Brenda.
“Come up to bed, Fanchon, do!” said Brenda. “You look dead tired and won’t appear at your best to-morrow at the Castle. Good-night, Mrs Dawson.” Mrs Dawson said nothing further, but she thought for a minute or two and then went into her private sitting-room and opened a Standard of a few days old and read a certain advertisement in it without any comment. After a time, she put the Standard carefully away and went up to her own room, for she had doubtless earned her night’s repose.
As they were going upstairs, Brenda said in a somewhat fretful voice:
“Fanchon – I do wish you would not let people think that I gave you that bangle.”
“But why should you not let them think it?” asked the astonished girl.
“Well – of course people couldn’t expect a governess like me to give you such really expensive things.”
“Oh – but they don’t know what a darling you are,” said Fanchon, springing suddenly on Brenda with the sort of affection of a bear’s cub, and crushing that young lady’s immaculate evening toilet.
Now, Brenda was decidedly cross because Harry Jordan had not been as pointed as usual in his remarks, and she disliked – she could scarcely tell why – the expression in Mrs Dawson’s eyes when they had rested on the bangle. She was, therefore, not at all prepared for Fanchon’s rough caress, nor for Fanchon’s next words.
“I do wonder if you would be such a duck of a thing as to let me wear the bangle at Castle Beverley to-morrow.”
“Wear it there!” cried Brenda, real terror for a minute seizing her. “Of course not – could anything be more unsuitable! You must appear at Castle Beverley as the innocent little girl you are. You must not think of jewellery. You mustn’t allude to it, nor to your evening walks, nor to anything we do when you and I are enjoying ourselves together. Come, Fanchon, give me the bangle; I allowed you to wear it to-night as a great treat; but I want to put it away.”
Fanchon looked decidedly cross.
“I should so like to wear it to-morrow,” she said, “and I can’t make out why you won’t let me. If it is my bangle, mayn’t I wear it when I like?”
“But it isn’t your bangle – at least at present, and it won’t be yours ever if you make a fuss. Come, Fanchon, do you want to quarrel with me? and oh – I am so tired! My dear child, give it here – I will take it.” Brenda snatched the bangle from her pupil’s wrist. “It would be such a pity,” she said, “if anything destroyed our fun – and any one could see with half an eye that Mr Burbery was greatly struck with you. Harry told me as much. Mr Burbery is going to be exceedingly rich some day; he also is in the mercantile world: there’s no other world worth considering, I can tell you that, Fanchon.”
“He knows a lot about bangles, anyhow,” said Fanchon, “for he was greatly struck with mine; indeed, I was thankful he was, for I couldn’t utter a word, and didn’t know from Adam what to say until he began to talk of it. And he said – oh, Brenda! that there is one advertised for in all the papers just like mine. I told him I wasn’t a bit surprised, for mine was so very beautiful.”
Brenda’s heart sank down to her very boots. Her rosy, radiant face turned white.
“There!” she exclaimed, “I see you are nothing whatever but a gossip. I don’t know when I will be able to let you have the bangle again. But now let’s come to bed, and let’s tread softly – we can manage without a light of course; it wouldn’t do to wake Josephine and Nina.”
So the girls slipped into the darkened, hot bedroom and presently got into bed, Fanchon to sleep and dream of Joe Burbery and the lovely bangle, and the sad pity it was that she could not display its charms to-morrow – but Brenda to lie awake; fear – dull dreadful fear tapping at her heart.
Chapter Sixteen
A Scrumptious Day
Notwithstanding that fear, however, on the following morning the pretty governess looked gay enough. They were to have a delightful day; there was no real danger; no one could prove in all the world that the bangle was not her own, or at least, her pupil’s. But she would not allow Fanchon to wear it again. She must not be seen in it, that was plain. As the horrid, odious thing was being advertised for, it was highly dangerous that Fanchon should wear it. Brenda could not enough regret her imprudence in having allowed her pupil to appear in it on the previous night. But how could she guess that that uninteresting youth, Joe Burbery, would have noticed it and seen the advertisement – the advertisement! oh, how perfectly dreadful! Why did rich people bother when they lost such a simple thing as a little gold bangle with a blue stone in it? Why could not they allow poor folks to have their chances? And Joe Burbery had seen – had seen – this horrible advertisement! Well, of course that meant nothing at all. Brenda could not guess that a far worse enemy in the shape of Mrs Dawson had also observed it. All she could do at present was to lock the bangle carefully up in one of the drawers of the humble little chest of drawers which the four had to share between them in their horrible hot bedroom.
She whispered a word to Fanchon not to breathe the subject of the bangle at the Castle, promising her as a reward that it should be hers absolutely, all the sooner. She then proceeded to make a most careful toilet herself and to superintend those of her pupils. She was really anxious that the three little Amberleys should look their best on this occasion. So she took their red hair out of the tight plaits in which they generally wore it, and combed it out and caused it to ripple down their backs.
This delighted Fanchon, and also Josephine, but Nina was greatly bothered by the heat of her thick fleece of red hair and would have infinitely preferred its being plaited tightly and tied with the old brown ribbon which generally adorned it. Nevertheless, when Brenda assured her that she was most elegant and altogether superior to most girls in her appearance, she decided to endure the unwonted heat.
A carriage from the neighbouring livery stables was sent for, and the three drove off in state to Castle Beverley, just in time to arrive on the scene between twelve and one o’clock; and Mrs Dawson, Miss Price, Mrs Simpkins, and all the little Simpkinses saw them off and wished them well, and a happy day; and when the carriage had turned the corner, Mrs Dawson was congratulated by the other ladies on her distinguished visitors. Mrs Dawson, however, made few replies, for she was considerably occupied with the thought of that advertisement and what it meant, and how it was that a commonplace child like Fanchon Amberley should wear so handsome a bangle.
“For my poor husband was in the jewellery line when he lived,” thought the widow to herself, “and I know the best gold and real good stones when I see them.”
Mrs Dawson’s feelings, however, have little to do with the really interesting events of this wonderful July day. The colour rose becomingly into Brenda’s cheeks as she thought of all that lay before her, and when the hackney carriage drew up outside the Beverleys’ house, she stepped lightly to the ground, and her pupils, with extreme awkwardness, followed her example. Josephine managed, in her exit from the carriage, to tear her delaine frock, which was decidedly annoying; but nothing else untoward occurred.
Honora was there and so was Penelope, and so were several other of the girls; and they all swept Brenda and her little charges under their wings. Honora saw that the torn flounce was immediately mended, and then they went into the cool shady grounds. The three little Amberleys were introduced to girls corresponding to themselves in age, and were led away to enjoy several games. Fanchon for a time tried to observe the grown-up manners which Brenda had endeavoured to instil. She could not forget, either, that on the previous night she had worn a real gold bangle, and talked to a real man – for seventeen years of age seemed very old and grown-up to her fourteen summers.
But Josie and Nina had no intention of doing anything but enjoy themselves. After the first few minutes of shyness, Nina complained bitterly of the heat of her hair and said she wished Brenda had not taken it out of its plaits.
“Why,” asked little Nellie Hungerford – “don’t you always wear it like that down your back!”
“Oh, never,” answered Nina. “It’s screwed up into tight, tight plaits, and tied with some sort of string at the end. That’s how I like it,” she answered. “I am so hot with it falling all over my neck and shoulders – I wish I could cut it off.”
“Oh, no – it is so pretty,” said Nellie. “I tell you what,” she added, “I’ll plait it for you, if you like.”
“Will you!” answered Nina, “I wish you would.”
“All right – I’ll do it right away, this very minute. And, Pauline darling, you can run into the house for a piece of ribbon. What colour do you want, Nina?”
“Oh, anything will do,” said Nina – “a bit of grass, anything.”
“Well, I tell you what,” said Nellie; “we are a good way from the house at present, and I have some string in my pocket, so we’ll tie it with that, and afterwards you shall have a piece of ribbon before we go down to lunch.”
So Nina’s hot, red hair was very badly and unevenly plaited. It hung rather crooked, much more to the left shoulder than to the right, and the string was not becoming, but that did not matter at all to the emancipated little girl.
When Nellie had plaited Nina’s hair, she suggested that she should perform the same office for the other two girls. Josie longed to accept, but did not dare. Fanchon answered, “No, thank you, I prefer my hair down until I can put it up properly. I long for the day when I can put my hair up. Don’t you?” she added, looking round at the little group who were surveying her.
“Indeed, no,” answered both the little Hungerfords. “We should hate to be grown up. We love being children, don’t we, Pauline?”
“Yes, yes,” said Pauline. It was just then that her beautiful little bangle with its ruby heart flashed in the sun. Fanchon noticed it; it was so very like her own – so like, but with a marked difference. She could not help saying:
“What a very pretty bangle you have got!”
“Yes – isn’t it?” said Pauline, but she spoke in a low voice, and pulled Fanchon a little aside. “Don’t speak of it, please,” she said. “I often feel that I oughtn’t to wear it.”
“Do you, indeed?” said Fanchon, “I can’t understand why. It looks most elegant, and it gives such tone, doesn’t it, now?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” said Pauline; “it is just a pretty little ornament. Mother gave it to me.”
“Well, I’m sure you ought to wear what your mother gave you. It must be so sweet to get presents of that kind; why don’t you like to?”
“I will tell you, if you’ll not say anything about it, and at the same time, when I tell you, I want you to promise me something.”
Fanchon coloured with delight. Pauline belonged to the county, and there was quite a subtle difference between her and Miss Fanchon Amberley, which that young lady herself appreciated, struggled against, and detested, all at the same time.
“Of course I won’t tell,” she said, “it is very nice of you to trust me. Have you a secret? It seems to me that most people have.”
“Oh dear, no; I haven’t any secret in all the world,” said Pauline. “I wouldn’t; it’d be too horrid.”
“Then why mustn’t I tell what you say?”
“Because it would hurt my darling Nellie?”
“Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“And why ever would it hurt her? Is she jealous because you have got something – something so very, very pretty, and so – so – ‘chic’?”
“I hate that word,” said Pauline, restlessly. “Well, I’ll just tell you the reason. I tell you because perhaps you will beg your sisters not to notice my bangle – I would so much rather they didn’t. The reason is this. Darlingest mother went to Paris not long ago and bought a bangle for each of us, one with a red stone – this ruby you see – for me, and one with the most lovely blue turquoise for Nellie, because Nellie’s birthday is in December, and that is the month for turquoises, and people who are born in December have the right to wear turquoises. And what do you think? Darling Nellie’s bangle is lost. We can’t imagine what’s become of it?”
“Is it being advertised in the paper?” asked Fanchon, opening her eyes very wide.
“Yes, of course it is. Have you seen the advertisement?”
“No, I haven’t, but I – I met a ma – a person last night and he – the person, I mean – saw the advertisement and – and – told me. I am so sorry, I hope you will get it back.”
“No – I am afraid we never will. The advertisement has been out some days now, and there has been no answer.”
“Who do you think took it?” asked Fanchon.
“Oh, one of the railway officials – it’s awful to think that those men should be so dishonest, but we’re certain it must be one of them, or, of course it might be a passenger in the train. Fred knows all about it. Fred thinks it must have been a passenger, but mother thinks it was an official. Anyhow, that doesn’t greatly matter, does it? Some one is a thief, and darling Nellie is without her bangle. I would much rather not wear mine – I really would – but mother insists, and I think she will get another for Nellie some day – that is, if Nellie is brave and doesn’t mind too much. But the loss of it has quite told upon her, and she isn’t half as good as she used to be, that’s why I don’t want you to speak of it.”
“Oh, of course I won’t. I am immensely interested,” said Fanchon. “I do hope they’ll find it; I should think they’ll be sure to. What was it like, exactly? do you mind telling me?”
“Exactly like this; do you notice the beautiful carving all round the gold? and the gold is the best that can be procured, and the stone was exactly the size of my ruby. I am July, you know, so the ruby is my stone. Well, well – we had better not say any more about it now – ”
“I have a bangle of my own,” suddenly said Fanchon.
“Have you?”
“Yes – but I mustn’t tell you about it. I ought not even to have mentioned that I have one. It was given to me by – by – a great friend. I prize it dearly. I longed and longed to wear it to-day, but I was not allowed.”
“Who wouldn’t let you wear it?” asked Pauline.
“My governess – Miss Carlton. She said that little girls didn’t wear jewellery. But you are younger than me, and you have your bangle on. I do wish Miss Carlton would have let me wear mine! It is – oh – I should like to describe it!”
Pauline looked at her attentively.
“Well,” she said, “why don’t you – that is, if you want to.”
She was not really interested in Fanchon’s bangle.
“I oughtn’t to have said anything, even that I possessed it, and you must promise that you won’t mention it. I had no right to let it out – no right at all; my – my friend would be so dreadfully angry – you will promise you won’t tell?”
“Of course I won’t tell.”
Pauline spoke in an offended, off-hand manner. She was not at all taken with Fanchon.
“Come,” she said, “I won’t tell about your bangle, and you will ask your sisters not to mention mine. Now we must join the others. They’re going 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 her visitors happy, arranged that Brenda and Penelope should be left quite undisturbed together. Penelope was not too happy at this idea, but as she could not possibly make any excuse for avoiding her dear Brenda, she was obliged to submit to it.
“Why are we to be left all alone?” said Brenda, whose restless eyes had roved over the entire company, and had evidently thought Penelope the person least worth conversing with.
“It is Honora,” replied Penelope at once. “She thinks that, as we are sisters, we ought to be glad to have a little time together all by ourselves. 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 to you, 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 them talking under that oak tree.”
“It might look a little queer,” said Penelope, “and lunch will be quite soon. Let’s walk about under these trees; we shall be quite in the shade.”
“Well – if we are to appear devoted sisters, let us play the part,” said Brenda, 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 help me all you possibly can.”
“I can’t do anything more, I really can’t,” said Penelope, her eyes growing dark with alarm. “I got you that twenty pounds, and I don’t think I shall ever be happy again!”
“Oh – what a little goose you are! How you harp upon that trifle! – and how far do you think twenty pounds will go in the case of a girl who wants every single thing that a girl ought to have? I thought this dress,” – Brenda looked at her spotted white muslin – “was really quite ‘chic’ until I saw Honora Beverley’s. I must say I don’t like Honora Beverley – of course you won’t whisper it, darling – but she always manages to put me in the shade. On the day of your fête when I wore my pale blue silk, her real Parisian lace made me look commonplace. And now, to-day, her white muslin must have cost pounds more than mine. It is disgusting to be trammelled like this, and I am sure I am fifty times prettier.”
“Don’t, Brenda!” said Penelope, suddenly. As she spoke, she laid her hand 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 fighting and struggling for the impossible? You are not born in Honora’s rank of life, 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. “I know what you think of me – I saw it in your face when I came up. You are ashamed of me! It’s a nice thing for one sister to be ashamed of another, and I do my best – my very best – and you know what I wanted that money for – you know it quite well. I could cry, but it would spoil my eyes, and my eyes are my best point I mustn’t shed a tear, though tears are choking me, and I could – oh – I could sob – at your treating me like this, 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,” said Penelope, “that is all.”
“What can be simpler in all the world than sprigged white muslin with blue ribbons and a blue straw hat with blue bows to match? If I could think for ever, I could not imagine anything simpler.”
“But all the blue ribbons – there are such a lot of them, Brenda. With a white hat, it would have been sweet. But, never mind – of course you’re very pretty.”
“Thank you for nothing, my dear – I don’t owe my face to you, and I wouldn’t change it for yours, I can tell you.”
“But tell me what you mean, for indeed, indeed I would help you, in the right way, all I could.”
“I hate that solemn, sanctimonious manner in which you are getting to speak. 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 twenty pounds – why, you know I told you that I hoped to be engaged soon. If that comes off – and I see every likelihood of it, for he is very empressé– I shall have as many jewels and dresses and furbelows as your 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 Castle Beverley, and you and your pupils are spending it here.”
“Yes, I know that, and I suppose I ought not to complain. But the fact is, it does make me cross to see the difference between this place and the horrid den in which I have to live at Marshlands-on-the-Sea. I shall get Harry – his name is Harry, but you mustn’t breathe it – to buy a castle like this for me to live in when I am married. He can well afford it, for he is a – ”
“Is his name Harry?” asked Penelope, impressed by what seemed to her the romance 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 until we are properly engaged. He is exceedingly good-looking, of the blond type. He is – oh – somebody who will probably be a baronet. They make very rich City magnates – I think they are called – baronets now, and I shall be Lady – oh, I mustn’t breathe the name. But listen; I want him to 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 of approaching the subject; you take the bloom off it – you really do. But you know, notwithstanding his enormous wealth, he has lofty ideas, and would be greatly impressed if he thought I was thick with the people here; so I want you to have me asked very often. And there’s another thing; I should so like you to have us sent back in one of the carriages this evening.”
“Oh, Brenda! Didn’t you desire the carriage you came in to call for you?”
“Of course I didn’t – you horrid little thing! Do you suppose I can run to the expense? Really, Penelope, you are too trying. I didn’t desire the carriage to call – certainly not. If these grand people will see their humble visitors walking back to Marshlands in the heat of a summer’s evening, why, they must – that’s all. I should have thought that my sister could have managed differently.”
“I can’t – I can’t,” said Penelope. “I hate asking favours. They’re so – just more than – kind. Couldn’t we send a message to Marshlands? I am sure a servant will be going in after lunch and I – I – would pay – I’ve got a few shillings.”
But this idea did not at all suit Brenda.
“No,” she said stoutly. “Nothing will induce me to take your money. If we’re not driven in, in one of the Beverley carriages – we’ll walk – we’ll arrive dusty and worn out, and wretched at Mrs Dawson’s – that is our landlady’s odious name. But what I really desire is to have one of the Beverley carriages, and for – for my Harry to see me in it. I do think it would have a most excellent effect on him; he is so wonderfully impressed 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 to get herself placed at table as far as possible from Penelope and as near to Fred as she could. She joked and laughed with Fred Hungerford, and he thought her a very pretty girl indeed. After lunch, however, he and his brother were obliged to go to Marshlands to see some friends. He mentioned this fact with regret to Brenda, who had hoped that he was going 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. I should like to awfully; but of course you’ll come another day; I know my aunt will be delighted to ask you. We’re so glad to have your sister with us – we think she is such a very nice girl.”
“So she is – a sweet girl – a noble girl,” said Brenda. She looked thoughtfully round her: there was no one exactly in sight.
“I made such an idiotic mistake this morning,” she said. “I wonder – if you 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 be quite pleased.”
“I forgot to desire the cab from town to return for us. Would you – or could you – send a message to the livery stables to tell them to come here 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 the carriages here. Wait a minute, and I’ll speak to my uncle.”
Young Hungerford crossed the hall. He met the squire, and said a few words to him. The squire slightly raised his brows.
“She ought not to have done it,” he said. “I don’t much admire that young lady; but of course, Fred, we’ll see her home – you just tell her so. And now get off, my dear lad, and enjoy yourself. The Calverts expect 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 her mind at rest on the subject of the carriage.
“It is all right,” he said. “And now I must be off, really. There is Pauline. Pauline, come along here. Will you take Miss Carlton out to the 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 day so agreeable as she had hoped, although the girls did their very utmost for their visitors. The little Amberleys were really enjoying themselves. Even Fanchon forgot that she was anything but a small and ignorant girl. She shrieked with laughter when Josie did, and as to Nina, she romped round and round wildly with her red hair in its crooked plait and still tied at the end by the piece of string; for all the children had forgotten the piece of ribbon which was to have graced it at lunch. Brenda almost cried when she saw her pupil. Her first impulse 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 would ever make the Amberleys look the least like the Hungerfords or the Beverleys, or the Beverleys’ friends. There was Mary L’Estrange, with her interesting face, and there was Cara Burt, who looked both haughty and distinguished. Even she herself was nobody in the midst of this group.
But the strange thing was that Penelope, whom no one took any trouble about, whose dress was of the very plainest imaginable, seemed quite at her ease and was perfectly friendly with all the other girls.