Other carriages had immediately followed the little victoria, which rolled swiftly away out of sight, and, for a minute, no one spoke to Brenda. Then Mrs Hazlitt herself came up to her. "Ah, how do you do, my dear?" she said. "You are--" "I am Brenda Carlton," said Brenda, raising those lovely melting blue eyes to the good lady's face. "It is _so_ kind of you to invite me here. And where is Penelope?" Mrs Hazlitt looked around. She was annoyed at Penelope not being in sight, and immediately called Honora Beverley to take her place. "Honora," she said--"this is Miss Carlton. I suppose Penelope has not finished dressing; will you kindly take Miss Carlton to her sister's room? I am sorry, my dear, that I have not a corner to offer you to sleep in to-night; but on break-up days we are always overfull." Brenda made a becoming reply, and followed in the wake of beautiful, fair Honora. Her own dress, it seemed to her, was most stylish--most absolutely all that any girl could desire, until she noticed Honora's white lace robe. It clung softly to her lissom young figure, and had an indescribable air about it which not even Madame Declasse could achieve. In short, it bore the hall-mark of Paris, for Honora Beverley was one of the richest girls in the school. She had always been accustomed to being well dressed, and had, therefore, never given the matter a thought. She was a most kind-hearted, high-principled girl, and was anxious to do what she could for Brenda, whom she, in her heart of hearts, could not help dubbing as second-class, notwithstanding the girl's real beauty. "I am so sorry," she said, "that Penelope was not present when you arrived; but she always does take a long time over her toilette. We must all assemble in the hall, however, in a quarter of an hour, so you will probably find her fully dressed. That is the way to her room. Have you come from a distance, Miss Carlton?" Brenda mentioned the obscure village where the Reverend Josiah lived. Honora had never heard of it, neither was she deeply interested. She chatted in a pleasant voice of the different events of the day, and said how delightful everything was, and how singularly kind she thought it of Penelope to take the part of Helen of Troy. "For I couldn't do it," she said. "It is just a case of conscience." There was something in her tone and in her gentle look which made Brenda gaze at her, not only with envy, but with dislike. "Why should your conscience be more tender than my sister's?" was her answer. "And who was Helen of Troy? I never heard of her." Honora opened her brown eyes. She had not believed that any one existed in the wide world who had not, at one time or another, made the acquaintance of this celebrated woman.