"I only know them for a short time, Brenda. But I do hope that the time spent at Hazlitt Chase will enable me always to act as a lady; for we were born ladies, dear," she added; and she touched Brenda on her arm. Brenda clutched Penelope's arm in response to this greeting with a feverish grip. "You are all right," she said; "but I can never go back." "What do you mean?" "I am wrong from first to last. I made a great mistake and I can't explain it. Let's come home; don't worry about me. You will do well in life." "I love you fifty thousand times better than I have loved you since we met on break-up day," was Penelope's response. "When you talk like this, you seem like the sister I lost long ago; but when you are stuck up and proud and vainglorious, then my feelings for you alter. If you were in trouble, in real trouble, Brenda, and I could help you, I would." "I daresay," said Brenda. Then she gave a light laugh. "But I am not in trouble," she said, "I'm as jolly as a sand-boy. Do let's come back; it is so silly to pay for our tea out-of-doors when Mademoiselle makes the very nicest little confections for us to partake of at home." There was a particularly nice afternoon tea that day in Mrs Dawson's drawing-room. That drawing-room, until Mademoiselle had appeared on the scene, was truly a room to be avoided. The western sun used to flood it with its rays. The windows were seldom properly opened. What flowers there were lacked water and were half dead in their vases. The furniture wanted dusting and arranging. There were generally broken toys about, which the small Simpkinses used to leave behind them in their wake. As likely as not, when you sank into a chair, you found yourself annoyed by a baby's rattle or a very objectionable india-rubber doll. In short, the drawing-room was never esteemed by the boarders. But lo, and behold! Since Mademoiselle had come to Palliser Gardens, this same drawing-room was transformed. Were there not green Venetian blinds to the windows? What so easy as to pull them down? Why should not the drooping withered flowers be replaced by fresh ones which, by a judicious management of leaves and grasses, could give a cool and airy effect? Then Mademoiselle had a knack of squirting the Venetian blinds with cold water, which gave a delicious dampness and fragrance at the same time in the room. The curtains, too, were sometimes slightly drawn, and the furniture was all neatly arranged; and the tea--that was _recherche_ itself--of such good flavour, so admirably made; then Mademoiselle was always fresh, always bright and presentable, standing by the little tea equipage, dispensing the very light, but really refreshing viands. Mademoiselle made one very gentle stipulation. It was this: that the small Simpkinses, the treasured babies of the establishment, should not come down to afternoon tea. Mrs Simpkins grumbled, but finally confessed that it was a comfort not to have