“Listen, Penelope,” said Mary, on this occasion. “You were in the arbour just now?”
“Yes,” said Penelope; “I was.”
“And you heard what Nora said?”
“Not being stone-deaf, I heard what she said,” responded Penelope.
“You thought her, perhaps, a little goose?” said Cara. “Well,” said Penelope, “I don’t know that I specially applied that epithet to her. I suppose she had her reasons. I think, on the whole, I respected her. Few girls would give up the chance of taking the foremost position and looking remarkably pretty, just for the sake of a scruple.”
“And such a scruple!” cried Cara. “For, of course, Helen was visionary—nothing else.”
Penelope shrugged her shoulders.
“I have not studied the character,” she said. “I have purposely avoided learning anything about Greek heroines. I know about Jephtha’s daughter; for I happen to have read the Book of Judges; and I also know the story of our Queen Eleanor; for I was slapped so often by my governess when I was learning that part of English history that I’m not likely to forget it. The great Queen Eleanor and going to bed supperless are associated in my mind together. Well, what do you want, girls? ‘A Dream of Fair Women’ is at an end, is it not? I suppose we’ll have something else—‘Blue Beard,’ or scenes from ‘Jane Eyre.’ Oh dear—I wish there was not such a fuss about breaking-up day; you are all in such ludicrous spirits!”
“And are not you?” said Mary L’Estrange, colouring slightly.
“I?” said Penelope. “Why should I be? I stay on here all alone. Deborah sometimes stays with me, or sometimes it’s Mademoiselle, or sometimes Fräulein. When it’s Deborah, I get her to read foolish stories aloud to me by the yard. When it’s Mademoiselle, she insists on chattering French to me, and, perforce, I learn a few phrases; and when it’s Fräulein, I equally benefit by the German tongue. But you don’t suppose it’s anything but triste.”