“That’s an excellent idea, Pauline,” said Honora. “Here, Penelope, come up to this end of the table, and I’ll jog the children’s memories if they forget any one.”
So Penelope enjoyed her first breakfast at Castle Beverley, and could not help looking at Honora with a wonderful, new sensation of love in her eyes. Honora, whose dazzling fairness and stately young figure had made her appear at first sight such an admirable representative of the fair Helen of the past, had never looked more beautiful than this morning.
She wore a dress of the palest shade of blue cambric and had a great bunch of forget-me-nots in her belt. Her face was like sunshine itself, and her wealth of golden hair was quite marvellous in its fairness. Her placid blue eyes seemed to be as mirrors in which one could see into her steadfast and noble mind. All her thoughts were those of kindness, and she was absolutely unselfish. In fact, as one girl said: “Honora is selfless: she almost forgets that she exists, so little does she think of herself in her thought for others.”
Now, Honora’s one desire was to make Penelope happy, and Penelope responded to the sympathetic manner and kindly words as a poor little sickly flower will revel in sunshine. But Pauline presently spoke in that rather shrill little voice of hers:
“We are happy here: even Nellie’s better, aren’t you, Nellie?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Nellie. She looked across the table at Pauline, and gave half a sigh and half a smile.
“Of course you are happy, Nellie,” said Honora. “You’re not thinking any more about that bracelet, are you?”
“I do wish I could get it back,” said Nellie, “but, all the same I am happy.”
“But please, Penelope, tell us about your sister,” said Pauline. “Oh, do you know—”
“Yes—do tell us that!” interrupted Nellie.