Now, as she tossed from side to side of her bed, she recalled a letter she had received from Brenda that morning. In the letter, Brenda had assured her that if she could but find twenty pounds, she would be--as she expressed it--a made woman. "I want exactly that sum," she represented, "to go with my pupils to the seaside. You don't know how terribly shabby my wardrobe is; I am simply in despair. A great deal hangs on this visit. There is a man whom I know and who, I believe, cares for me; and if I had twenty pounds to spend on beautifying my wardrobe, I might secure him, and so end the miseries of my present lot. I cannot help confiding in you, Penelope, although, of course, you can't help me. Oh, how I wish you could! for if I were once married, I might see about you, and get you to come and stay with me, and give you a chance in life, instead of continuing this odious teaching." The letter rambled on for some time, as was the case with most of Brenda's epistles. But, in the postscript, it once again alluded to the subject of the needful twenty pounds. "Oh, it is such a little sum," wrote Brenda,--"so easily acquired, so quickly spent. Why, my eldest pupil had far more than that spent on her wardrobe last spring, and yet she looks nothing in particular. Whereas I--well, dear--I am sorry to have to take all the good looks--but I flatter myself that I am a very pretty young person; and if I had only a few linen tennis skirts and jackets and a white frock for garden parties, and a few hats, ribbons, frills, etc, etc, why--I would do fine. But, oh dear--where's the use of worrying you! You can't get me the money, and there's no one else to do it. So I shall always be your pretty Brenda Carlton to the end of the chapter." That special letter had arrived on the morning of the day when this story opens, and its main idea was so absolutely impossible to Penelope that she had not worried much about it. Brenda was always talking in that fashion--always demanding things she could not possibly get--always hoping against hope that her beauty would win her a good match in the matrimonial market. But now Penelope thought over the letter with very different feelings. If she could, by any possibility, gratify Brenda, she thought that happiness might not be unknown to her. She loved Brenda: she admired her very great beauty. She hated to see her shabbily dressed. She hated to think of her as going through insult and disagreeable times. She felt that, if she had the ordering of the world, she would shower riches and blessings and love and devotion on her sister, and be happy in her happiness. If ever she had golden dreams, the dreams turned in the direction of Brenda. If ever her talents brought forth fruit, the fruit should be for Brenda.