"Pretty Penelope,"

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXV, Issue 10713, 13 August 1913, Page 2

"Pretty Penelope,"

(OUR SERIAL

By Effie Adelaide Rowlands, Author off "A Girl's Kingdom," "A Splendid Man," "The Interloper," "A Kinsman's Sin," "Brave Barbara," etc.

CHAPTER XX.—Continued. "I am awfully sorry Doctor Westall cannot come," Mrs Warriner said after a while. "I am suro it is as great a disappointment to him as it is to you." . "Mrs Langridge is always having a fit of something at the most inconvenient times; she might have waited until to-morrow IV Daphne cried, with her impetuous wrath, seating herself on the hearthrug in a favourite squatting attitude. "Did you ever hear such a heartless little individual as she is, Pen? I don't believe she has faith in any one, except perhaps the clergy, as represented in one or two favoured individuals." • The girl flung a cushion at her sister, and even Penelope found herself laughing at the scarlat, confused face before them.

"If Mr de Burgh is at the ball you •will give him all sorts of kind messages from me,'won't you, Daphne?" she said; and' then the smile gave way to a sigh—the thought of Harold, de urgh. brought up such a host of memories, visions' of the past that could never, never come again. The delicate, tender sweetness of her mother's presence, the days when Lucie had been always near, with her accompaniment of gentle, practical sense,.patience and industry. How long, long ago those days seemed I. Could it only be little more than a short year and a half since that time at Wavestown, that merrj', laughing, youthfully intolerant, mischievous time when she had skimmed the rocks like a bird, and had teased and quarrelled and been reconciled to the big, handsome, boyish young man whom her girlish heart had learned to love immediately, and her girlish, reckless pride and will had determined must never be her love? The thought of Harold de Burgh was closely knit up with these memories that were so sad and vet so beautiful.

matters." Daphne sat down on the ground and stared at her friend. "I have a very, very good mind not to go to this ball to-night," she said deliberated; "I hate leaving you with that cat,"" Penelope was conscious of a thrill of vague pleasure even in hearing this suggestion; but in her own mind she had not the slightest intention of permitting any such action on her friend's part. "My dear Daphne, what an idea! What do yu suppose will happen to mo?" "I don't know. She is such a cat.'"' was the answer, given with uncompromising frankness., f'Besides, she has no love for you," Daphne went on, as she clasped h' arms about Penelopo's knees. "In fact, I am quite sure she hates you well." "Daphne, you must not say such tilings, dear, please—.please!" "Oh, I am not casting any invidious distinction on you; Mrs Latimar scatters her hate with a generous hand. You, know, Pen, I don't understand how she comes to be in the least related to you, and though I was "never quite fond of Mrs Rochdale, sihe is isipmething very, very much nicer than her daughter. Hon-, estly, I would never have given Marcia credit for developing into an individual with so mndh character even of such a disagreeable kind. I said once to Doctor Westall that slie gave me the creeps; she was so odd, almost uncanny, and all the answer he gave mo was one of his grunts. You know how he does it; sort of settles any question right off without more ado, so I shut up" and said no more, though I feel pretty certain he quite agreed with me!"

It had grieved her often to.realise she must hare hurt him in the short refusal she sent; yet, -when she had heard from hi-n again there had been nothing but kindness and tender thought. Penelope had a strong yearning for Harold do Burgh, to come now again on the scene. Surely such a "nan, such a nature, would be able to cope with the magnitude of trouble and misery that spelled the meaning of marriage between Denis and Marcia Latimar.

. The girl's heart hungered over: the man in his suffering: all the old reproach and re'noree awoke in this moment. * She took to herself the whole burden and blame of his misery; she saw his ruin, his' troubled life, as her doing, and hers alone. She sat so silent, and in such an attitude of pain and mental distress, that Mrs Warriner, with that instinct of delicate tact that marks the true' woman, rose and went softly away, giving her sister a sign to .follow. Daphne did not follow, however,; she misread Penelope's sorrow. W» heart had a dull, dead pang in it in that instant, but to falter in love and loyalty was (something that Daphne Riley did not. understand. "She loves him, after all," .vtfas her quick thought. ." "Poor little Pen, and this is the meaning of her changed looks and sad eyes. It will be hard to try and forget him—very, very hard; but if it is to give Pen happiness ' and—and then—then he loved her! What shall I do? Can I speak to her?" A isecond's hesitation, and then Daphne took her resolution. "Yes, I will, I .must — what is gained by waiting?—and—and it will help me a little to help her."

Penelope suddenly felt two arms about her, and, lifting the pale, tearstained face, she looked into a pair of true eyes—-not /unshadowed with sorrow, maybe, but carrying a staunchness and affection indescribable.

Daphne spoke out the story of her thoughts quickly* abruptly, as was her fashion, .yet gently, too. Penelope did not follow her at first, for her head was beginning to ache now in a dull, desperate way; but as she cauglie the meaning of her friend's words she thrust, weakness, regret, remorse, and old memories aside. . "Daphne, dear," she said, tenderly, "how good ybti are! -.What a true, kind, sweet heart! Do you know what a.sacrifice you are offering me, dear Daphne ? I am not fretting over what you think. My feelings for Harold de Burgh have never changed. I like him, I honour him, I trust him, I- am grateful to him. Hs is a man 11.,I 1 ., am proud to call my friend, but loversr" She shook her head with a despairing sigh that was almost a moan, then went on quickly. "It is not I who love him, is it, Daphne? What of your, own heart, dear? I read your secret long ago, and I am so glad— &o very glad, for you will make . him happy ; . Put all this thought of me out of, your mind, dear child. Between Harold de .'Burgh and- me there is nothing but a true, a sincere, and I 'hope a lasting friendship; believe me, that is the absolute truth—" '

"I wanted to see you happy, Pen, and I thought—" Dapluie paused an instant. "You have something on your heart," she said, when she spoke again, "and I imagined perhaps you wero regretting."

"Ah, yet, I am regretting,'" Penelope said, with sudden passion • "but not that, Daphne—not that—no, don't ask me any aiore to-night. Another time—soon, perhaps.—l will tell you all my little story. What, a silly little story it will sound! Arid yet it has had such big results, such a terrible end." A Penelope brushed her eyes roughly with her hand. "Don't let us talk any more of this? I shall spoil all your pleasure and give myself a headache that will not improve

(To oe Continued.)