“Yes—she was talking a lot to my brother. She is very pretty; of course—of course I saw her. And she says it was the railway people who stole it? I will tell mother that the very instant I get back. But oh, please, Penelope, Honora wants you; she said you promised to go to her room before ten, and she would be so glad if you would go at once—will you?”
“Yes, I will go,” said Penelope.
She had forgotten Honora’s words, being absorbed in her own melancholy thoughts. It now occurred to her, however, that she might as well keep her promise to the pretty girl who ought to have been Helen of Troy. She went slowly down the passage, tapped at Honora’s door, and entered her bedroom. The young lady was just dressed for her journey. She wore dainty white piqué and a pretty hat to match. She looked fair and fresh and charming.
“I am just off—I have hardly a minute,” she said. “I want to ask a great favour of you, Penelope.”
“What is that?” said Penelope.
She spoke ill-naturedly. She felt the contrast between them. She almost disliked Honora for her beauty on this occasion.
“It is this,” said Honora. “I have been asking mamma—and she says I may do it. Will you come and stay with us for part of the holidays?”
“I!” said Penelope—amazement in her face.
“Yes. We live at Castle Beverley: it is not very far from Marshlands-on-the-Sea.”
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Penelope, clasping her hands. “Why, it is there my sister is going.”