“Never mind what use I have made of the money. When I write to tell you that I am engaged, and can, perhaps, offer you a home in the future, then you will understand how useful it has been.”
Penelope was silent for a minute or two. Then, just as they were approaching the station, she said to her sister:
“Did you hear about the lost bangle?—it does seem so queer. The Hungerfords will make a great fuss about it, that I am sure of.”
“Oh, no, they won’t,” said Brenda.
“Why—have you heard anything?”
“I was talking to that nice boy who came here with his mother. They seemed quite certain that it slipped out of her hand in the train. They can’t blame anybody at the school.”
“Of course not,” said Penelope. “What do you mean?”
Brenda was glad that the night was dark enough to prevent her sister seeing the colour which flew to her cheeks.
“I meant nothing at all,” she said. “Only of course when things are lost, everybody gets suspected. In this case, suspicion falls upon the passengers on the line and the railway officials, so we are well out of it. Good night, Helen of Troy. Oh, to think that you—you little insignificant creature—should ever have represented her!”
The whistle of the train was heard as it approached the station. Brenda sprang from the carriage, waved a kiss to her sister, and hurried on to the platform. A minute later, she was borne out of sight, the gold bangle with its turquoise clasp lying securely in the pocket of her dress.