"No, they wouldn't. Helen with the limelight and the dark wood and the voice talking above her was not me. She was something quite foreign to me: somebody else got into me just for a minute." "Oh, how wildly and impossibly you do talk, Penelope! I see you're going to be queer as well as plain. Well, unless you wish to say good-bye at once, come to the station with me." "I will--I should like to," said Penelope. She rushed upstairs and came down in her hat and jacket. The same little victoria which had brought Brenda from the station was waiting to convey her back. Penelope was feeling dead tired. "I shall have a sickening time," she said, "during the holidays all alone with Mademoiselle in this great place and nothing whatever to do. I don't love books and I don't care for work and--oh dear--I envy you; you can go to the seaside and have a good time. I hope you will get use out of your twenty pounds." "I should think so, indeed." "But you must have spent a lot of it over that dress, and I don't think I admire it." "Never mind what use I have made of the money. When I write to tell you that I am engaged, and can, perhaps, offer you a home in the future, then you will understand how useful it has been." Penelope was silent for a minute or two. Then, just as they were approaching the station, she said to her sister: "Did you hear about the lost bangle?--it does seem so queer. The Hungerfords will make a great fuss about it, that I am sure of." "Oh, no, they won't," said Brenda. "Why--have you heard anything?" "I was talking to that nice boy who came here with his mother. They seemed quite certain that it slipped out of her hand in the train. They can't blame anybody at the school." "Of course not," said Penelope. "What _do_ you mean?" Brenda was glad that the night was dark enough to prevent her sister seeing the colour which flew to her cheeks. "I meant nothing at all," she said. "Only of course when things are lost, everybody gets suspected. In this case, suspicion falls upon the passengers on the line and the railway officials, so we are well out of it. Good night, Helen of Troy. Oh, to think that you--you little insignificant creature--should ever have represented her!" The whistle of the train was heard as it approached the station. Brenda sprang from the carriage, waved a kiss to her sister, and hurried on to the platform. A minute later, she was borne out of sight, the gold bangle with its turquoise clasp lying securely in the pocket of her dress. CHAPTER NINE. THREE SISTERS CONSULT TOGETHER. Meanwhile, at the old rectory at Harroway, the girls who were left behind were passing a day not without a certain interest. It was Nina who began all the excitement. Their father, having been disappointed at not seeing Brenda off, had gone early on a long round of parochial visits, and the three girls had the breakfast table to themselves.