by L. T. Meade
could onlystand forth in her exquisite beauty in the midst of this group, thetableaux would be a marked success.
The girls now surrounded Penelope, each of them looking at her withfresh eyes. Hitherto, she had been quite unnoticed in the school. Shewas a nobody--a very plain, uninteresting, badly dressed creature. Butnow she was to be--in a measure--their deliverer; for they felt certainthat under Mrs Hazlitt's clever manipulations she could be transformedinto a Helen of Troy. They all surrounded her eagerly.
"So glad you've come!" said Annie Leicester. "Thought you would; ofcourse, you're going to help us. Oh dear--how much fairer you look thanany of the rest of us--you will make a great contrast to the rest ofTennyson's `Fair Women'; won't she, Mary?"
Mary smiled.
"Penelope will do quite well," she said. "As Honora has been such afool as to refuse to play, we must take the second-best. You havethought it all over, haven't you, Penelope, and you are going to yield?"
"Well,"--said Penelope--"I have thought it over, and I am--"
"Oh, yes--dear creature!" said Cara. "You will yield, won't you? Sayyes, at once--say that you will do what we wish. We can then find MrsHazlitt and tell her that her heroines will be forthcoming, and she cango forward with her arrangements. The date is not so very far off now,and of course there will be a great many rehearsals."
"Five pounds apiece," murmured Penelope to herself. She looked eagerlyfrom one face to another. She had not been six months at the schoolwithout finding out that most of her companions were rich. They couldeach afford to gratify their special whim, even to the tune of afive-pound note; and even if they did not, why--it didn't matter: shewould not play; the thing would fall to the ground. Of course, theywould never repeat what she was going to say--that was the first pointshe must assure herself of.
"You are going to--yes--why don't you speak?" enquired Mary.
"Because I have something to say to you," replied Penelope. "You allwant very much to take the different parts of these heroines, don'tyou?"
"Why, of course--"
"And I shall be a most lovely Cleopatra," said Susanna, in a gleefultone. "I see myself in the dress, and mother will be delighted!"
She laughed: and her jet-black eyes twinkled merrily.
"Then _you_ want to be Cleopatra?" said Penelope.
"Of course I do."
"And you, Mary, you want to be Jephtha's daughter?"
"Yes--of course."
"And you," she continued, turning to Cara, "you are equally desirous tobe Iphigenia?"
"Of course--of course," replied Cara.
To each girl Penelope put the same question in turn. She saw eagernessin their eyes and strong desire in their whole manner. They wished toshow themselves off. They wanted to appear in the wonderful dresses--toattract the attention of the crowd of spectators, to be petted and mademuch of afterwards by their fathers and mothers and relations generally.In short, that moment of their lives would be a golden one. Peneloperemarked these feelings, which shone out of each pair of eyes, withintense satisfaction.
"But you could," she said, after a pause, "take the parts in some othertableaux. There are heaps of tableaux in English history and in theplays of Shakespeare. There's the `Vicar of Wakefield,' too. You couldbe one of his daughters--Olivia, for instance, and the other girl--I amsure I forget her name."
"No, no--no!" said Mary. "I will be nothing, if I am not Jephtha'sdaughter."
"Very well. That is all I want to know. This, I take it, is theposition." She moved a little further into the shade of the wood as shespoke. "One might almost think one was back again in that wood whereTennyson himself seemed to wander when he had his dream," she said, andher light blue eyes gave a curious glance--a flicker of feeling whichdid 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, turninground at that moment and addressing Mary.
Mary had the grace to blush.
"I never especially knew you until now," she said, after an awkwardpause.
"And you know me now," continued Penelope, who felt bitterness at thatmoment, "because you want to know me--because I can help you to fulfil adesire which, is very strong within you. Now, I wish to say quiteplainly that I am in no way anxious to be Helen of Troy. Except by themere accident of having a fair skin and light hair, I am as little likethat beauty of ancient times as any one woman can be like another. I amin no sense an ideal Helen of Troy. Nevertheless, I know quite wellthat 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 canwear shoes with very high heels and come forward a little on the canvasof the picture. And so--all things considered--I may be made justpresentable."
"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 whofelt certain that something very disagreeable was coming.
"But, then, you see," continued Penelope, "it is by no means my wish totake any part in this tableau and, in short, I positively refuse to haveanything whatever to do with your Helen of Troy, unless you make itworth my while to become one of the heroines in the tableaux." Penelopespoke very quietly now. Her whole soul was in her words. Was she notthinking of Brenda, and of what might happen to Brenda should shesucceed, and of the golden life that might be Brenda's were she to beclever enough to get these four stupid rich girls to accede to herrequest?
"I will tell you quite plainly,"--she said--"there is no use beatingabout the bush. I want twenty pounds." They all backed away from herin amazement.
"I don't want it for myself, but for another. There are four of youhere most anxious to take part in the tableaux. It would be perfectlyeasy for you four to get five pounds each from your respective parents,and to give me the money. On the day when I get the money, or when Ireceive your promise that you will pay it me, I will do whatever isnecessary for the perfection of Helen's tableau, on the condition thatyou never breathe to a soul that I want that money, that on no futureoccasion do you bring it up to me, that you never blame me for havingasked for it, nor enquire why I wanted it. For, girls, I, too, amambitious, but not with your ambition; and I want just that sum ofmoney, not to help myself, but another. For her sake, I will make afool of myself on the day of the breaking-up, but I won't do it for anyother reason. You can let me know whether you can manage this or notbefore the evening, for I understand that you are going to give MrsHazlitt your decision then. If you say no--there is an end of thematter, and we are no worse off than we were. If you say yes--why, Iwill do my very best for you--that is all. Good-bye, girls, for thepresent. I am going to walk in the wood with some of the children;Mary, your sister amongst them. Think of me what you like; I trust younot to tell on me. Good-bye, for the present."
Penelope disappeared in her untidy linen dress with her old-fashionedblouse and, walking down the path, was soon lost to view. The girls shehad left behind stared at each other without speaking.
CHAPTER FOUR.
AGREED.
"If there ever was an extraordinary thing--" began Mary.
"Preposterous!" echoed Cara.
"Impossible!" said Annie.
"Five pounds, indeed, from me because she gets the very best part in thetableaux!" exclaimed Susanna. "Well, girls: this ought to settle us.We had best give up `A Dream of Fair Women' on the spot."
Each girl looked at the other. Then, arm in arm, they began slowly topace the wood.
Give it up? That meant a good deal. For had not Cara written homeabout it and told her father and mother what a delightful and originalp
art she was taking? And had not Mary L'Estrange delighted her motherwith the story? that she was to be--she--Mary--Jephtha's daughter? thatnoblest maid of ancient story. And had not Cara's brothers and sistersand father and mother and grandfather and grandmother andgreat-grandfather and great-grandmother all been interested at thethought of the girl appearing as Iphigenia in the play? For the thinghad been settled, and nobody for a single moment had supposed that theideal Helen of Troy would refuse to take her part.
Now, with great difficulty, they had found a possible Helen; but, lo--and behold! the little cat that she was--she meant to blackmail