admission of her daughter's intention, filled the
Charlewoods with surprise: though each member
of the family received the news in a different
manner, according to his or her peculiar character.
Mrs. Charlewood, as became a devout Flukeite,
expressed much grief and horror; though
the real, kind motherly heart of the woman
occasionally asserted itself in such exclamations
as, " Well, I do 'ope Mabel may think better
of it in time, and find a good 'usband to take
care of her!" or, " There! I don't know whether
it's wicked, but I can't 'elp wishing her success.
'Eaven forgive me!" Augusta professed languidly
that, though of course it was very shocking,
she for her part was not so much astonished
as the rest, and that she had long been of
opinion that such outrageous and improper
conduct must be the natural result of
strong-mindedness, and the setting up of one's own
judgment against that of the people whose
legitimate business it was to do all the thinking.
Walter shrugged his shoulders at his sister,
and lounging out of the room, opined that Miss
Earnshaw would make a " stunning actress,"
and that he would certainly go and see her, if
ever he had the opportunity. Whereupon Miss
Fluke groaned audibly.

Penelope always found Miss Fluke intensely
irritating, and it seemed as if Miss Fluke's
presence excited her scornful spirit of
contradiction to its highest pitch. Albeit, she
remained quite silent during Miss Fluke's very
long and elaborate description of her interview
with Mrs. Saxelby at Hazlehurst, and her solemn
and emphatic announcement of the appalling
fact that Mabel "actually had an aunt who was
a player, and that she had been brought up
amongst those kind of people from childhood!"

"What a shame of Mrs. Saxelby to keep it so
quiet! She never used to say a word about her
family," exclaimed Augusta. " I call it getting
into people's houses on false pretences."

Penelope turned on her sister with a sudden
flash that was like the dart of a panther. " Mrs.
Saxelby would probably have had no objection
to speak of the position of her family
connexions, Augusta, had she not thought it might
have seemed like boasting, to us."
"Boasting?"

" Certainly. Mrs. Saxelby was always very
nice and good natured; but she knew perfectly
well that our revered grandfather had carried a
hod."

Augusta coloured high with spite and vexation.

"Really, Penny," she said, flouncing up from
her chair, "you are too absurd. Comparing us
with——I won't stay to hear such things said!"
Miss Augusta's rich silk dress trailed and rustled
out of the room.

"Umph!" said Penelope, contemplatively
leaning her chin on her hand. " How queer
it all is, ain't it? Augusta is haughty enough
for a duchess, and handsome enough for two
duchesses. I'd back her for beauty and
impertinence against Lady Clara Vere de Vere
herself. And yet, you know, our grandfather
did carry a hod, Miss Fluke!"

At dinner that evening none of the family
alluded to the news. The cloud had not yet
sufficiently cleared from Mr. Charlewood's
brow to make his wife and children as much
at their ease in his presence as formerly;
and what little conversation passed between
them was carried on almost in whispers.
Clement, too, looked ill and anxious; and
Penelope wondered in her own mind, as she observed
his pale face and abstracted manner, whether
he had heard of Mabel's design, and whether
his dejection might not possibly be traceable to
his knowledge of it. "I can't quite make Clement
out," said Miss Charlewood to herself, as
she watched her brother across the dinner-table.
"At one time I thought it was a mere passing
fancy that would die a natural death very
comfortably; but now—I don't know—I'm
afraid there's something more in it. Poor dear
old Clem."

If Penelope Charlewood had what is called a
soft place in her heart at all, it was occupied
by her brother Clement. Later in the evening,
when tea was brought into the drawing-room,
and he had seated himself apart from the rest
in a secluded corner of the large room, with a
book in his hand, Penelope brought him a cup
of tea, and then seating herself beside him, said
in a low voice:

"We have heard some odd news to-day, Clem.
Perhaps you know it already. Mabel Earnshaw
is going on the stage."

Clement looked up, and the colour mounted
to his brow, as he asked sharply:

"Who says so?"

"Miss Fluke says so. She came here to-day,
fully primed and loaded with the tidings."

"Confound that woman! She is the most
intolerable and meddlesome fool in Hammerham.
I wish to God some man would marry her,
and take her away!"

"Oh, Clem!" cried his sister. " What an
awful wish against some man! But is it true
about Mabel?"

"I wish, with all my soul, I could say no,
Penny. But I by no means tell you that is a
certain fact. Will you, to oblige me, refrain
from repeating this tattle—at all events, until it
is confirmed past doubt."

For once in her life, Penelope checked the
sharp speech that rose to the tip of her tongue.
Clement's earnest pleading look went to her heart,
and called up a remembrance of some childish
trouble they had shared and surmounted together.
She gave him her hand, and watched
him, as he left the room, with eyes that were
veiled with unaccustomed moisture.

"Poor Clem! Poor dear old boy! He is
the very best fellow in all the world; and if
it could make him happy, I almost wish——"

What Miss Charlewood almost wished, she
did not distinctly tell herself on that occasion,
for she brought her meditations to an abrupt
termination with an impatient shake of her
head; and, opening the piano, rattled off a
brilliant set of variations with a clear metallic touch
and a rapid finger.