Penelope did not repeat her threat, but she watched Pauline. Miss Tredgold also watched Pauline. Verena felt uncomfortable, without quite knowing why. The keen vigor¹ and joy of the first days at the seaside had departed. Pauline became pale once more, and Miss Tredgold’s anxieties about her were revived. The Dales were a healthy race, but one or two of the Tredgolds had died of consumption. 153Miss Tredgold remembered a young—very young—sister of her own who had reached Pauline’s age, and then quite suddenly had become melancholy², and then slightly unwell, and then more unwell, until the fell scourge³ had seized her as its prey⁴. She had died when between sixteen and seventeen. Miss Tredgold seemed to see her sister’s face in Pauline’s. She did not for a single moment accuse the child of any wrong-doing. She did not imagine that what ailed⁵ her could have to do with the mind. Nevertheless she was anxious about her. Miss Tredgold had a good deal of penetration⁶, but she was not accustomed to children. She thought that children of Pen’s age were more little animals than anything else. It did not occur to her that a small child like Pen could have a mind of a very extraordinary order, and that the mind of this child could work in a direction which might hurt others. She did not suppose such a terrible child could exist.  
Pauline was therefore more or less a prey to the naughtiness of Pen, who used her as a weapon for her own enjoyment⁷. Pen was quite determined⁸ to enjoy herself at the seaside. She would have her bucket and spade and make castles in the sand as long as ever she liked, and she would play with other children, and would make acquaintance with them. She insisted also on going very often to the shops to buy caramels or chocolates. In short, she was determined that during her brief stay at Easterhaze she would have as good a time as possible. It is quite on the cards that she would not have had so good a time as she did but for the agency of Pauline. Pauline, however, in spite of herself, sided with Pen. She almost hated Pen, but she sided with her. She used to throw her voice into the scale of Pen’s desires, and Pen in consequence got pretty much what she wanted.
 
There came a day when two children, a boy and a girl of the name of Carver, ran up to Pen and asked her if she would join them in going round the next promontory⁹ and gathering¹⁰ shells in a wide bay on the other side, which was known as the White Bay. The way to this bay, except at low-water, was not very safe, as during high-tide the sea was apt to come up and cut off retreat. Pen, however, knew nothing about this. The moment she was asked to go it occurred to her that there could be no such delightful¹¹ place as the White Bay anywhere else in the world. She knew well, however, that Miss Tredgold never allowed her to go fifty yards from the house on either side. She looked up. Pauline was walking along the upper walk. She had a story-book in her hand. She meant to reach one of the shelters and sit down there to read. Pen turned to the two Carvers and said that she must ask permission, but she would be with them in a minute. She then scrambled¹² up the path and ran to Pauline’s side.154
 
“Pauline,” she said, “I am going to the White Bay with the Carvers—those two children there—that boy and girl; you see ’em. We are going at once. They have got a basket of cakes, and we are going to gather shells and have a jolly time. We won’t be back till one o’clock.”
 
“But you can’t go,” said Pauline. She did not know of any danger in going; she only thought that Penelope meant to disobey Miss Tredgold. “Aunt Sophy is out, and she has not given you leave,” she said. “You must stay where you are, Pen.”
 
“But you can give me leave, Paulie, darling, can you not?”
 
“I can’t do anything of the sort; you mustn’t ask me.”
 
Pen’s eyes danced. The children on the sands called out to her.
 
“Be quick, little girl, or we’ll be cotched. If nurse comes out she won’t let us go. We can go if we start at once.”
 
“Well, I’m off. You must give me leave, Paulie. If you don’t I will——”
 
“Don’t!” said Pauline, backing away from her sister. She felt a sort of terror when Penelope taunted¹³ her with her superior knowledge and the cruel use she meant to put it to.
 
“Go if you like,” she said, in a white heat of passion. “You are the worry of my life.”
 
Pen gave her a flashing, by no means good sort of glance, and then tore down the winding¹⁴ path which led to the sands. Pauline got up; she left her seat by the shore and went inland.
 
“I don’t know how I am to bear it,” she said to herself. “Pen has made me so wretched. I was hoping that nothing would be known. I was trying to forget, and I was making a lot of good resolves, and I am loving Aunt Sophy more and more each day. Why have I got such a dreadful little sister as Pen? She is like none of the rest. It seems almost incredible that I should be in the power of such a small child. Nevertheless I am in her power. I had no right to let her go to the White Bay; still, I told her to go, for I couldn’t bear the agonies I should have to go through if I refused. Oh, I am wretched! Pen practically knows everything; so does Patty, and so does Briar. But they’re safe enough; they won’t betray me—they wouldn’t for all the world. As to Pen, I don’t know what she is made of. She will be a terrible woman by-and-by.”
 
Pauline walked on until she heard Verena’s voice. She then turned back.
 
“Aunt Sophy said we were to go up to the town to meet her,” said Verena. “She’s doing some shopping. She wants to get a new autumn hat for you, and another for me. Come along, Paulie. We are to be at Murray’s in the High Street at eleven o’clock.”155
 
Pauline turned and walked soberly by her sister’s side.
 
“Are you as tired as ever this morning, Paulie?” asked Verena.
 
“I am not tired at all,” replied Pauline.
 
Verena considered for a minute.
 
“Aunt Sophy is often anxious about you,” she said. “I can’t imagine why, but she is. She says that she doesn’t think you are at all strong.”
 
“Oh, I am!” interrupted Pauline. “I wish she wouldn’t worry about me. I wish you’d tell her not to worry. I am really as strong as any girl could be. Do tell her not to fret¹⁵ about me any more.”
 
“Where is Pen?” said Verena suddenly.
 
Pauline did not speak.
 
“I suppose she is down on the beach as usual,” said Verena again in a careless tone. “She’s always down there. She is such a queer little mite¹⁶!”
 
“Don’t let’s talk about her,” said Pauline almost crossly.
 
The girls turned their conversation to other matters, and when they joined Miss Tredgold at Murray’s shop they had both forgotten the existence of their little sister Penelope.
 
Meanwhile that young person was having a good time. Having gained her wish, she was in excellent spirits, and was determined to make herself extremely agreeable to the Carvers. She thought them quite nice children. They were different from the children at home. They had lived almost all their lives in London. They told Pen a good many stories about London. It was the only place worth living in, Harry¹⁷ Carver said. When you went out there you always turned your steps in the direction of the Zoo. Pen asked what the Zoo was. Harry Carver gave her a glance of amazement¹⁸.
 
“Why, it’s chock-full of wild beasts,” he said.
 
Pen thought this a most exciting description. Her cheeks paled; her eyes grew big. She clasped hold of Harry’s arm and said in a trembling voice:
 
“Are you joking, or do you mean real lions and bears and tigers?”
 
“I mean real lions and bears and tigers,” said Harry. “Oh, if you only heard the lions roar! We see them fed, ............