“Not this morning, please,” she said.
She felt herself turning pale. She felt she must have one happy day before she began to meet Brenda. She had a curious feeling that when that event took place, her peace, and delight in her present surroundings would somehow be clouded. Brenda was so much cleverer than she was, so gay, so determined, so strange in many ways. Oh, no; she would not go to see her to-day.
“If you like,” said Honora, observing Penelope’s confusion, and rather wondering at it, “I could send a note to your sister to come up to-morrow to spend the day here. We’re not going to do anything special to-morrow, and mother always allows me to ask any friends we like to the Castle. We have heaps of croquet courts and tennis courts, and the little girls could come with her, for of course she couldn’t leave them behind. How would that do, Penelope? Would that please you?”
“I don’t know,” said Penelope. Then she said, somewhat awkwardly:
“Oh, yes—yes—if you like—”
Honora had a curious sensation of some surprise at Penelope’s manner; but it quickly passed. She accounted for it by saying to herself that her friend was tired and of course must greatly long to see her only sister.
“She’s not absolutely and altogether to my taste,” thought Honora, “but I am just determined to give her the best of times, and we can have the sister up and the funny children for at least one day. What’s the good of having a big place if one doesn’t get people to enjoy it?”
It was just then that Nellie said:
“I do wish, Penelope, you had not done one thing.”
“What is that?” asked Penelope, who had hardly got over the shock of having Brenda so soon with her.