s a
trifle out of his usual place. She moved him gently a little nearer the
clock; Pennie's expression changed to one of positive agony, and the
mandarin's head fell immediately with a sharp "click" on to the marble!
Clasping her hands, Pennie turned involuntarily towards Ethelwyn. Now
she _must_ speak. But Ethelwyn was quite silent, and did not even turn
her head. It was Miss Unity's voice which broke the stillness.

"Child," she said, "you have acted deceitfully."

She fixed her eyes on Pennie, who flushed hotly, and certainly looked
the very picture of guilt.

_Of course_ Ethelwyn would speak now. But there was no sound from the
window-seat.

Pennie twisted her fingers nervously together, her chest heaved, and
something within her said over and over again: "I didn't do it--I didn't
do it." She had quite a struggle to prevent the little voice from
making itself heard, and her throat ached with the effort; but she kept
it down and stood before Miss Unity in perfect silence.

The latter had taken the broken head in her hand, and was looking at it
sorrowfully.

"I valued this image, Penelope," she went on, "and I grieve to have it
destroyed. But I grieve far more to think you should have tried to
deceive me. Perhaps I can mend the mandarin, but I can't ever forget
that you have been dishonest--nothing can mend that. I shall think of
it whenever I see the image, and it will make me sad."

The little voice struggled and fought in Pennie's breast to make itself
heard: "I didn't do it, I didn't do it," it cried out wildly. With a
resolute gulp she kept it down, but the effort was almost too great, and
Miss Unity's grave face was too much to bear. She burst into tears and
ran out of the room. Then hurrying upstairs she plunged her head into
the side of the big bed where she and Ethelwyn slept together, and cried
bitterly. Unjustly accused, disappointed, betrayed by her best friend--
the world was a miserable place, Pennie thought, and happiness
impossible ever again. There was no one to take her part--Ethelwyn was
deceitful and unkind; and as she remembered how she had loved and
worshipped her, the tears flowed faster. How could she, _could_ she
have done it? Then looking back, she saw how wilfully she had shut her
eyes to Ethelwyn's faults, plain enough to everyone else. That was all
over now: she had broken something beside the mandarin that day, and
that was Pennie's belief in her. It was quite go