by L. T. Meade
wisely chose heroes and heroines from the past toset before her girls, and she felt very much annoyed now that NoraBeverley should object to take the part of Helen of Troy--Helen, who,belonging to her day and generation, had been much tried amongstbeautiful women, badly treated, harshly used; sighed for, longed for,fought over, died for by thousands. That this Helen, so marvellous,so--in some senses of the word--divine, should be criticised by a mereschoolgirl and considered unworthy to be represented by her, even for afew minutes, was, to the headmistress, nothing short of ridiculous.Nevertheless, she was the last person to wound any one's conscience.
She retired to her private sitting-room, and then quite resolved to giveup "A Dream of Fair Women," and to substitute some other tableaux forthe pleasure of her guests.
Meanwhile, in the school, there was great excitement. Cleopatra,Jephtha's daughter, the gracious Queen Eleanor, and the other charactersrepresented by Tennyson in that dim wood before the dawn, wereexceedingly distressed at not being allowed to take their parts.
"I have written home about it, already," said Mary L'Estrange. "I haveasked my father--who knows a great deal about antiquity, and the Greekstory in particular--to send me sketches of the most suitable dress forIphigenia. I have no scruples whatever in taking the part, and I cannotsee why Nora should. Oh, Nora, there you are--won't you change yourmind?"
"My mind is my own, and I won't alter it for any one living," said Nora."Now, don't disturb me, please, Mary; I want to recite over the firstsix stanzas of `In Memoriam' before I go to bed."
She began whispering to herself, a volume of Tennyson lying concealed inher lap. Mary shrugged her shoulders and went to another part of theschool-room. Here was to be found a girl of the name of Penelope. Shewas a comparatively new comer, and had not entered the school until justbefore her sixteenth birthday. Some pressure had been brought to bearto secure her admission, and the girls were none of them sure whetherthey liked her or not. Mrs Hazlitt, however, took a good deal ofnotice of her, was specially kind to her, and often invited her to havesupper with herself in the old summer parlour, where Queen Elizabeth wassaid, at one time, to have feasted.
Penelope Carlton was not at all a pretty girl, but she was fair, withvery light blue eyes, and an insipid face. Now, as Cara and Mary lookedat her, it seemed to dart simultaneously into both their brains that,rather than lose the tableaux altogether, they might persuade Penelopeto take the part of Helen. Penelope was not especially an easilypersuaded young woman; she was somewhat dour of temper, and could bevery disagreeable when she liked. Honora was a universal favourite, butno one specially cared for Penelope. Some of her greatest friends werethe younger girls in the school, over whom she seemed to have an uncannyinfluence.
"Listen, Penelope," said Mary, on this occasion. "You were in thearbour just now?"
"Yes," said Penelope; "I was."
"And you heard what Nora said?"
"Not being stone-deaf, I heard what she said," responded Penelope.
"You thought her, perhaps, a little goose?" said Cara. "Well," saidPenelope, "I don't know that I specially applied that epithet to her. Isuppose she had her reasons. I think, on the whole, I respected her.Few girls would give up the chance of taking the foremost position andlooking remarkably pretty, just for the sake of a scruple."
"And such a scruple!" cried Cara. "For, of course, Helen wasvisionary--nothing else."
Penelope shrugged her shoulders.
"I have not studied the character," she said. "I have purposely avoidedlearning anything about Greek heroines. I know about Jephtha'sdaughter; for I happen to have read the Book of Judges; and I also knowthe story of our Queen Eleanor; for I was slapped so often by mygoverness when I was learning that part of English history that I'm notlikely to forget it. The great Queen Eleanor and going to bedsupperless are associated in my mind together. Well, what do you want,girls? `A Dream of Fair Women' is at an end, is it not? I supposewe'll have something else--`Blue Beard,' or scenes from `Jane Eyre.' Ohdear--I wish there was not such a fuss about breaking-up day; you areall in such ludicrous spirits!"
"And are not you?" said Mary L'Estrange, colouring slightly.
"I?" said Penelope. "Why should I be? I stay on here all alone.Deborah sometimes stays with me, or sometimes it's Mademoiselle, orsometimes Fraulein. When it's Deborah, I get her to read foolishstories aloud to me by the yard. When it's Mademoiselle, she insists onchattering French to me, and, perforce, I learn a few phrases; and whenit's Fraulein, I equally benefit by the German tongue. But you don'tsuppose it's anything but _triste_."
"You must long for the time when you will leave school," said Cara. "Itis very selfish of me," she added, "but I have such delightful holidays,and I do look forward to them so. Picture to yourself a great place,and many brothers and sisters and cousins of all sorts and degrees, anduncles and aunts; and father and mother, and grandfather andgrandmother; and great-grandfather and great-grandmother; and we takeexpeditions to one place and another every day; and sometimesgreat-grandfather hires a hotel by the sea and takes every one of usthere for a week. That's my sort of holiday," continued Cara, "and thedays fly, and when night comes I am so sleepy that they are all tooshort. Oh dear! but how I do run on! I am sorry for you, of course,Penelope."
"Don't be sorry," said Penelope; "I am not sorry for myself: I don'twant the days to fly; for, when I have passed my eighteenth birthday, Imust leave here and go somewhere to teach. It entirely depends on whatsort of a character Mrs Hazlitt gives me whether I get a good positionor not. But, up to the present, I have managed to please her, and Ialways take the little ones, who will do anything for me, off her hands.By the way, I have promised to play with Juliet and Agnes this evening.They ought to be in bed, but they are sitting up because I havepromised them one wild game of hide-and-seek in the garden. I must goand fulfil my promise now."
As Penelope spoke, she rose.
"She's not so very short, after all," thought Cara. "But how plain sheis," thought Mary.
"She's wonderfully fair, all things considered," pursued Cara, in herown mind. "She might do--she could never be like Honora, who is ideal--but she might do."
Aloud she said:
"You can't go to the children for a minute, or, rather, you had betterlet Deborah go, and tell them that you will play with them to-morrownight."
"What do you mean?"
Penelope's dull, pale blue eyes stared with an ugly sort of glimmer.Then they resumed their usual, apathetic expression.
"I don't like to break my word to children," she said. Mary jumped upand came towards her.
"You know what is happening," she said. "Our wonderful, beautifultableaux are in danger of coming to grief. They will fall to the groundcompletely, unless we can get some girl belonging to the school to takethe part of Helen."
"Well, Nora Beverley refuses; I don't know who else can do it."
"You can do it, Penelope."
"And you must!" exclaimed Mary. "Deborah, go and tell those sillychildren to get into bed."
A wave of astonished colour swept over Penelope Carlton's cheeks. Shehad been seated, but now she rose. She walked restlessly towards thewindow. There was within her breast undeveloped, but very strong,ambition. She saw herself quite truly, for she was not the sort of girlto be self-deceived. But she had always hoped that her opportunitymight come. She had always known that she possessed possibilities. Shewas young; she was clever. That she was born plain, she admitted withscathing frankness. She called herself hideous and took little painswith her appearance. She hoped that her brain, however, might bring herlaurels. She was strong, and young, and certainly clever. Againstthese advantages lay the disadvantages of extreme poverty, absolutefriendlessness, and of a very plain face. There is, perhaps, no plainerwoman than a very fair woman when she is plain, for she seems to havenothing to relieve the insipidity of her appearance. This wasPenelope's case. But now, all of a sudden, a chance was given to her.She--Helen of Troy! It would be
taking her out of her place. She wouldnot be able to do the part at all. Nevertheless, there was such a thingas a make-up, and that could be employed in her behalf. She lookedeagerly at the three girls and said, in a low voice:
"Do send Deborah to the children: I will play with them another night;and tell her to take them some chocolates from the school store and togive them my love, and let us go into the garden."
It took but a few minutes to fulfil all these requests, and Penelope,Mary, and Cara were soon pacing up and down on the front lawn. Othergirls were also walking about