“I know it—and it seems so highly ridiculous that I should be forced to take the part of Helen of Troy. Of course, Honora was the girl absolutely made on the very model, but she refused.”
“Who is Honora?” asked Brenda.
“Why, that lovely girl in the white lace—(it’s all real, I can tell you, and was sent to her from Paris)—who brought you to my door.”
“Oh—that girl!” said Brenda. “I don’t think her at all remarkable.”
“Don’t you? Well, most people do—she’s quite the belle of the school.”
“And what does the belle of the school signify?” said Brenda, who was feeling decidedly cross. “If a girl could be called the belle of the season, that might be something to aspire to—but the belle of a school! Who cares about that?”
“Well, the schoolgirls do, and while we are at school, it is our world,” said Penelope. “But now I must bring you downstairs, and put you into your place. You must get a seat on one of the benches near the front, or you won’t see one half that is going on. Come along, you may be sure I will fly to you whenever I have a second, but I shall be very busy all day.”
“Will there be gentlemen present?” asked Brenda.
“Oh—certainly. The brothers and cousins and fathers and uncles of the pupils.”
“I don’t care anything at all about the fathers and uncles, but I should like to be introduced to some of the brothers and cousins.”