Penelope was certainly on the verge of being in love, to go no farther than that. She discovered that certain of the horde had a curious tendency to disappear from her mind, though none of them lost any opportunity of appearing in her drawing-room. She was so sorry for those she didn’t love that her kindness to them increased. Her dread of the one she began to adore forbade her to show how soft she had grown to him. Not even Ethel and Chloe together could make anything out of it, which shows every one, of course, that they were two simple idiots, or that Penelope had a very remarkable character. It seems to me that the latter must have been the case, for Chloe was no fool in spite of the folly she had shown on one particular occasion. "Am I a fool?" she asked Ethel Mytton, "or is Penelope the deepest, darkest mystery of modern times? I am convinced she has made her choice." "Oh, which do you think?" asked Ethel, with much anxiety. "Do you—do you think it is Captain Goby?" "I don’t know," replied Chloe; "it may be. I give it up. I shall ask Bob." "I’ve asked him," said Ethel, "and he won’t say anything. I think he knows more than we do. He’s a sweet boy, but just as cunning as a ferret." But of course Bob knew no more than they did, though he would never own to it. He threw out casual hints that he was wiser than his elders, and the only one he was in the least frank with was Lord Bradstock, who asked him to lunch and was infinitely amused with him. "I say, Lord Bradstock, if you’ll keep it dark, I’ll tell you something!" Bradstock promised to keep it as dark as a dry plate. "All these women think I know who Penelope’s sweet on, and I don’t. And, what’s more, I wouldn’t tell if I did. Would you?" "Certainly not," said Bradstock. "You can’t think how I’m chased," said Bob. "Ethel Mytton is the worst. She’s dead nuts on poor Goby, and Goby doesn’t see her when Pen’s in the room. And Mrs. Cadwallader, she’s always mugging up to me with chocolates or something to get things out of me. And the newspaper Johnnies are on me, too. And Williams takes me out, and Carew (I don’t care for Carew), and I like Goby best. Mr. de Vere is a rotter, don’t you think? The marquis was at Pen’s, and he said that if Pen didn’t marry him he’d go up in a balloon and never come back. I want him to take me in a balloon. Don’t you think I might go? Granny’s cross when I speak of it. I’ve always wanted to go in a balloon, and I think it hard lines I can’t go because she doesn’t like ’em. Pen won’t go, either. She thinks that if she did, Rivaulx would never let her come down again, or something. I daresay he wouldn’t; he’s quite mad, I think, sometimes. Baker says all Frenchmen are mad. Do you think so?" Bradstock didn’t know; he wasn’t sure of it, though he owned to thinking it was possible. "After all, Bob," he said, when Bob went at last, "and after all I dare say Penelope won’t marry any of them."