Penelope seemed to remember. She put her hand to her forehead.
“Oh, that,” she said, with a laugh. “But that was pure nonsense!”
“It was a true bet; you wrote it down in your book and I wrote it down in mine. It’s as true as true can be. You wrote—I remember the words quite well—‘If Clay gets an introduction through Marcia Aldworth to Miss Angela St. Just, I will pay Nesta one sovereign; and if she fails, Nesta is to give me one sovereign.’ Now did you, or did you not, make me that bet?”
“Oh, it was a bit of fun—a joke.”
“It isn’t a joke; it’s real earnest. I tell you what; I’ll go straight to your father and tell him before every one present what has really happened. I’ll tell him that you made a bet and won’t keep it, for I have won,” said Nesta excitedly. “You ask Clay if I haven’t. Clay was at our house this morning, and Angela called. Blessed thing! I see nothing in her. She was introduced to your Clay, and your Clay hopes to bring her here to Court Prospect, and if I haven’t earned my sovereign, I want to know who has. So now.”
“Really and truly, Nesta, I wish you wouldn’t talk so loud. Oh, look at all those people coming this way. They’ll see us, and Clay will call me. I see Clay with them.”
“Let her call. I’d like her to. I’d like to explain before every one that you never kept your bet.”
“Oh, do come into the house, Nesta. Do for pity’s sake.”
Penelope dragged the fierce and rebellious Nesta into the house by the side door.
“Now,” she said, “sit down and cool yourself. What will Bertie say? and he came here specially on my invitation. He is my guest. I’m awfully sweet on him. I am really, and—oh dear, oh dear—I don’t care about Angela St. Just, and I don’t believe that she was introduced to Clay.”