Penelope was too lost in happy dreams, though, to heed or be hurt by Esther's remarks.
"Of course I can't have it trained, but all the same I am glad I have a nice voice," she said in a happy, dreamy voice. "Fancy me, me, with a beautiful voice! Isn't it strange? Doesn't it seem as though it can't be true? Oh, I am so happy!"
"I always loved to hear you sing, dear," said Angela, seating herself on the ground at Penelope's feet and hugging her sister's knees. "And, Pen, just imagine if you could have lessons, and could sing at concerts, and everybody wanted to hear you, and you made lots and lots of money—wouldn't it be lovely! Esther, come and sit down and talk about what we would do if Pen were famous and made a heap of money." Angela never doubted that what good fortune came to one would be shared by all. "Come and sit here, Esther."
"It will be Penelope's money," said Esther coldly. "It would be for her to say what she would do with it, not for us. I am busy; I can't stay talking nonsense," and away she walked out of the room, leaving Penelope and Angela with their spirits considerably lowered.
"I don't know why it is," sighed Penelope, roused at last from her happy oblivion, "but whenever I bring home what I think is good news it always seems to upset Esther. I thought she was just dying for us all to be able to do something to help father and Cousin Charlotte, and this seemed such a lovely thing! Of course there is all the expense first, but if I have a really good voice, later on I should be able to keep you all, and give you all you want. I think she might have seemed a little bit glad."
"Perhaps she is worried," said Angela, "because she wants you to have lessons, and there isn't any money for them, and—and I think she is tired."
"I wish she would not do so much and get so tired," said Penelope wistfully. "We scarcely ever see her now; she hardly ever has any time to play, and—and it is disappointing when she acts like that." Penelope's voice quavered a little, in spite of herself, and she rose and looked out of window that Angela might not see her misty eyes.
"Never mind, dear," coaxed comforting Angela, "don't you fret. Essie is as glad as either of us, really, and by and by she will be all right. Let us go out on the moor, and talk over what we will do when you are rich, shall we?"
"Yes," said Penelope, with a little sigh, and a shake to shake off her gloom. "Dear old moor, I feel I want to lie down on it and hug it when big, nice things happen, and tell it all about them. Come along, Angel."
Esther, from upstairs, saw them go out together, Angela's arm about Pen's waist, Penelope's arm about Angela's shoulders. With angry eyes and aching heart she watched them go through the garden, and guessed whither they were bound; and a sense of loneliness, of being shut out, stole over her.