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in groups. The one subject ofconversation was Tennyson's "Dream of Fair Women." It was sointeresting, so beautiful, so suited to the school. It seemed soridiculous and unreasonable of the one girl who could be Helen of Troynot to take the part.

  "Well," said Mary, eagerly, to her companion--"will you, or will younot?"

  "But I am so ugly," began Penelope.

  "Yes--there is no doubt of it, you are very plain," said Cara.

  "Poor and ugly," quoted Penelope, half under her breath. "What possiblechance have I? Then I am not even tall; I am just fair--that is all."

  "Your height can be magnified by your coming a little more forward,"said Cara, "and, of course, Mrs Hazlitt manages the dresses. Yourswill be severity itself, and it won't matter whether you have a goodfigure or not. Oh, surely you can do it; you have got the maincharacteristic--great fairness."

  Penelope laughed.

  "`A daughter of the gods'!" she quoted.

  The other girls also laughed.

  "Why do you want me to do this thing?" said Penelope, glancing around."You have never taken any special notice of me until now. Why are you,all of a sudden, so--so--civil? I don't understand."

  "We had best be frank," said Cara.

  "Tea, of course, that is what I wish. In the world, no one will befrank; each person will disguise his or her true feelings; but at schoolone expects frankness. So say what you like."

  "Well," said Cara, "we do not want to give up our own parts, and, nextto Nora, you are the fairest girl in the school. In fact, all theothers are mediocre, except the dark ones."

  "I am very dark," said Mary, "and the part allotted to me is that ofJephtha's daughter."

  "Who will be Fair Rosamond?" suddenly asked Penelope.

  "Oh, we've got a girl for her--Annie Leicester. She is nothingremarkable, but can be done up for the occasion. But, you see, Helencomes first of all the fair women, and the lines about her are far morebeautiful than about anybody else. Special pains must be taken withregard to her entrance on the scene. You will do all right: I don'tpretend that you will be as good as Honora, but as she refuses--if youonly would consent--"

  "You want this very much, indeed," said Penelope, her eyes sparklingonce again with that queer, by no means pleasant, light in them.

  "You will consent," said Mary. "We have to let Mrs Hazlitt know withintwenty-four hours, and the sooner she is acquainted with the fact thatwe have found a Helen of Troy, the better."

  "Oh, I can't consent all in a hurry," replied Penelope. "I must takethe night to think it over. This is exceedingly important to both ofyou--that I can see--and I have few, very few, chances. I must make themost of all that come in my way. I think I know just what you want.Good-night, girls."

  She went slowly back into the house. Mary and Cara looked at eachother.

  "Do I like her?" said Cara, suddenly.

  Mary gave a laugh.

  "I detest her," she said. "I never could understand why she cameamongst us. Honora Beverley has her cranks, but she is aboveboard, andhonest to the core. I don't believe this girl is honest--I mean, Idon't think, in her heart of hearts, she would mind a dishonourableaction. From the very first she has been different from the rest of us:I often wish she had never come to the school."

  "Why so?" asked Cara. "She doesn't interfere with you."

  "But she interferes with Molly, my younger sister. Molly is devoted toher--most of the fourteen-year-old girls are. I can't imagine why awoman like Mrs Hazlitt should have such a girl in the school."

  Cara laughed.

  "We can't fathom Mrs Hazlitt," she remarked. "Of course, we love her,every one does; and there isn't such a school as ours in the length andbreadth of England. Everything that is necessary for a girl's educationis attended to, and yet there is no pressure, no over-study, no strainon the nerves. A girl who leaves Hazlitt Chase and goes into society,or to Newnham, or Girton, is equally well-fitted for the career whichlies before her."

  "Well, come in now," said Mary, sleepily. "I am dead tired. I onlyhope that ugly Penelope will take the part of Helen of Troy."

  CHAPTER THREE.

  A STARTLING CONDITION.

  During the night that followed, most of the girls at Hazlitt Chase sleptsoundly. The day through which they had just lived was conducive tohealthy slumber. There was nothing to weigh on their young hearts.They were tired, healthily tired, from a judicious mixture of exerciseand work--of mental interest, moral stimulus, and the best physicalexercise.

  But one girl lay awake all night. She tossed from side to side of herrestless pillow. Now, this girl was not Honora Beverley, who, havingclearly stated her mind, had felt no further compunction. She had abrother--a clergyman--to whom she was devoted, and she did not thinkthat he would like her to act Helen of Troy. Be that as it may, she hadmade her decision, and would abide by it. She therefore, although sorryshe had upset the arrangements of the school, and in particular hadannoyed Mrs Hazlitt, slept the sleep of the just.

  The girl who lay awake was Penelope Carlton.

  Now, Penelope, being poorer than the others, was not in any waysubjected on that account to severer rules or to poorer accommodation.Each girl in the old Chase had a bedroom of her own, and Penelope, whopaid nothing a year, but who was taken altogether out of good will andkindness, had just as pretty a room as Honora Beverley, whose fatherpaid two hundred and fifty pounds per annum for her education in thisselect establishment. No one in the school knew that Penelope wasreally taken out of a sort of charity. That would, indeed, have been toruin the girl: so thought Mrs Hazlitt. Her room was small, butperfectly decorated, and although in winter there were dark red curtainsto all the windows, and bright fires in the grates, and electric lightto make the place bright and cheerful: yet in summer every schoolgirl'sspecial apartment was draped in virgin white.

  Penelope now lay down on as soft a bed as did her richer sisters, andhad just as good a chance as they of peaceful slumber. But alack--andalas! she could not sleep! Penelope's mind was upset, and a possibilityof doing a kindness to the one creature who in all the world she trulyloved, flashed before her mind. Poor Penelope had no father, and nomother; but she had one sister, to whom she was devoted. This sisterwas as poor as herself. Her name was Brenda, and she had been agoverness in different families for some years. She used to write toPenelope at least once a week, and her letters were always complainingof the hardships of her lot. She assured Penelope that the office ofteacher was the most to be dreaded of any in the wide world, and againand again begged of her sister to think of some other mode of earningmoney. A pupil of Mrs Hazlitt's, however, had no other career open toher, and Penelope was resigned to her fate. She had eighteen moremonths to stay at Hazlitt Chase, and during that time she resolved tobring her remarkable talents--for such she felt them to be--well to thefront.

  Now, as she tossed from side to side of her bed, she recalled a lettershe had received from Brenda that morning. In the letter, Brenda hadassured her that if she could but find twenty pounds, she would be--asshe expressed it--a made woman.

  "I want exactly that sum," she represented, "to go with my pupils to theseaside. You don't know how terribly shabby my wardrobe is; I am simplyin despair. A great deal hangs on this visit. There is a man whom Iknow and who, I believe, cares for me; and if I had twenty pounds tospend on beautifying my wardrobe, I might secure him, and so end themiseries of my present lot. I cannot help confiding in you, Penelope,although, of course, you can't help me. Oh, how I wish you could! forif I were once married, I might see about you, and get you to come andstay with me, and give you a chance in life, instead of continuing thisodious teaching."

  The letter rambled on for some time, as was the case with most ofBrenda's epistles. But, in the postscript, it once again alluded to thesubject of the needful twenty pounds.

  "Oh, it is such a little sum," wrote Brenda,--"so easily acquired, soquickly spent. Why, my eldest pupil had far more than that spent on herwardrobe last spri
ng, and yet she looks nothing in particular. WhereasI--well, dear--I am sorry to have to take all the good looks--but Iflatter myself that I am a very pretty young person; and if I had only afew linen tennis skirts and jackets and a white frock for gardenparties, and a few hats, ribbons, frills, etc, etc, why--I would dofine. But, oh dear--where's the use of worrying you! You can't get methe money, and there's no one else to do it. So I shall always be yourpretty Brenda Carlton to the end of the chapter."

  That special letter had arrived on the morning of the day when thisstory opens, and its main idea was so absolutely impossible to Penelopethat she had not worried much about it. Brenda was