To each girl Penelope put the same question in turn. She saw eagerness in their eyes and strong desire in their whole manner. They wished to show themselves off. They wanted to appear in the wonderful dresses--to attract the attention of the crowd of spectators, to be petted and made much of afterwards by their fathers and mothers and relations generally. In short, that moment of their lives would be a golden one. Penelope remarked these feelings, which shone out of each pair of eyes, with intense satisfaction. "But you could," she said, after a pause, "take the parts in some other tableaux. There are heaps of tableaux in English history and in the plays of Shakespeare. There's the `Vicar of Wakefield,' too. You could be one of his daughters--Olivia, for instance, and the other girl--I am sure I forget her name." "No, no--no!" said Mary. "I will be nothing, if I am not Jephtha's daughter." "Very well. That is all I want to know. This, I take it, is the position." She moved a little further into the shade of the wood as she spoke. "One might almost think one was back again in that wood where Tennyson himself seemed to wander when he had his dream," she said, and her light blue eyes gave a curious glance--a flicker of feeling which did not often animate them. She was quite still for a minute. Then she said, gravely: "But the whole thing falls through, unless _I_ am Helen of Troy?" "Yes--but you _will_ be--of course you will be; dear, dear Penelope!" said Mary L'Estrange. "You never called me dear Penelope before," remarked Penelope, turning round at that moment and addressing Mary. Mary had the grace to blush. "I never especially knew you until now," she said, after an awkward pause. "And you know me now," continued Penelope, who felt bitterness at that moment, "because you want to know me--because I can help you to fulfil a desire which, is very strong within you. Now, I wish to say quite plainly that I am in no way anxious to be Helen of Troy. Except by the mere accident of having a fair skin and light hair, I am as little like that beauty of ancient times as any one woman can be like another. I am in no sense an ideal Helen of Troy. Nevertheless, I know quite well that there is the rouge pot, and the eyes can be made to look darker, and the flash of the limelight may give animation to my face; and I can wear shoes with very high heels and come forward a little on the canvas of the picture. And so--all things considered--I may be made just presentable." "As you will be--why, you will look quite beautiful," said Cara. "And you ask me to do this for your sakes?" "Well, of course--and for your own, too." This remark was made by Annie Leicester, who did not know why, but who felt certain that something very disagreeable was coming.