He went to bed at last, resolved to speak to the governess on the subject by-and-by. When Brenda reached her room, she first of all proceeded to lock her door. She then carefully removed her white serge coat, shook it, brushed it over tenderly, and folded it up, with tissue paper between the folds. She then laid this elegant garment in the bottom drawer of her wardrobe. It must not be seen again until she was safe at Marshlands-on-the-Sea. Having removed the coat, she stood for a time surveying her own reflection in the cracked mirror, which, after all, was the best looking-glass the rectory could afford. She moved her head slightly to right, slightly to left; she pushed her hat in different positions, and contemplated herself with great admiration. Then, putting her hand into her pocket, she took out the beautiful little bangle and clasped it on her wrist. The bangle really gave her great finish. It seemed to raise her in the social scale. It was so absolutely good--not the least bit jim-crack. That gold was at least eighteen carat, and that exquisite turquoise must have cost a mint of money; it was just the right size for her, too. She held up her arm, and contemplated the effect of the bangle in this position. She laid her hand across her knee, and looked at it from that point of view. She arranged it and rearranged it, and loved it more and worshipped it more deeply the longer she looked at it. At last, with a deep sigh of satisfaction, she took it off, folded it softly in some tissue paper, and, opening her purse, took from it the key of a drawer which she always kept locked. The people who surrounded the rectory, the few domestics who worked there, were all honest as the day. Had this not been the case, Brenda's drawer in her wardrobe might have been found worth robbing before now. For in it were those savings which she had secured from the housekeeping money, and that seven pounds, sixteen shillings, and eleven-pence which still belonged to the girls' wardrobes and the four five-pound notes which Penelope had sent her. In short, Brenda felt that she was quite a wealthy girl. She had not an idea of any Nemesis at hand. She laid the stolen bracelet in a little box which had held hitherto some mock jewellery, and having locked her drawer, proceeded to take off her pale blue dress, to fold it up, put it away, to do ditto with her hat and gloves, and finally to undress and get into bed. Brenda Carlton slept soundly that night, for she was really very tired. She was also quite hopeful and happy. But towards morning, she was disturbed by a dream. The dream was a curious mixture of Helen of Troy as she had appeared--silent and stately in the dusky wood--of Penelope, with her eyes red from crying, of her pupils and their clothes, and, last but not least, the Reverend Josiah.