"Why, at supper to-night, it seemed to me that Penelope looked as she did when she made that extraordinary request of us, asking us to give her five pounds apiece for her to take the part." "I didn't notice that expression," exclaimed Mary. "But it was very queer of her to want the money. I didn't like her a bit then, did you, Cara?" "Of course not," said Cara. "I despised her utterly." "So did I, until she acted Helen, and then I could not help admiring her--she was quite, quite splendid." "And since she has come here," continued Cara, "she has been very, very nice. Honora is wonderfully taken with her. Honora told me to-day that she loves her dearly and means to help her after she has left school. Honora says she's such a lady, and so different from her elder sister." "Oh, _she's_ quite an impossible person," said Mary. "But here come some of the stragglers. Now we must resume our play. Hullo! Nellie; is it my turn to be blindfolded?" The elder girls, the boys, and the little girls continued their play, Honora ran up to Penelope's room and tapped at the door. Penelope started, and at first did not reply. But the tap was repeated, and she was forced to say, "Who's there?" "It is I--Honora," called a voice. "Oh, Nora--I am just going to bed," answered Penelope. "No, you're not, dear. Let me in, please." There was another moment of hesitation. Then the door was unlocked, and Honora entered. The room was full of moonlight, for Penelope had not lighted any candle. "What is it, Nora?" she said. "I thought I'd come and sit with you for a little, for--you naughty thing--you've not gone to bed; I happened to see you from the garden below. What is the matter, Pen?" "I want to be alone to-night so very badly," said Penelope. "You're very unhappy, Pen--I want to know what is the matter." "I am unhappy--but I can't tell you, Honora." "What is the good of a friend if you can't confide in her?" said Honora. "If," said Penelope, speaking very slowly, "I do what I ought to do, you will never be my friend again; you will never wish even to have my name mentioned. And if I do what I ought not to do, then perhaps, you will be my friend--but I shall be unworthy of you." "I don't know anything whatever about that," said Honora; "but I do know one thing. If you are in any sort of trouble (and perhaps your sister has got you into some trouble--for, to tell you the truth, Penelope, I do not greatly care for your sister, and I must say so just now), you will, of course do what is right." "That is the dreadful thing my conscience said just now," said Penelope. "Then you really are in great trouble, dear?" "Don't call me dear," said Penelope. "I am in great trouble." "On your own account?"