“Good. Well, we’re at home now, and I absolutely must have a cup of tea. No time for it in my room to-night – let’s come into the hall and have some there. Look here, Rosalind, I’ll ask Lucy Marsh to have cocoa to-night in my room, and you can come too. Now keep a silent tongue in your head, Baby.”
Chapter Twelve
A Good Thing to be Young
It was long past the tea-hour at Heath Hall when Maggie Oliphant and Priscilla started on their walk home. The brightness and gaiety of the merry party at the Marshalls’ had increased as the moments flew on. Even Priscilla had caught something of the charm. The kindly spirit which animated everyone seemed to get into her. She first became interested, then she forgot herself. Prissie was no longer awkward; she began to talk, and when she liked she could talk well.
As the two girls were leaving the house, Geoffrey Hammond put in a sudden appearance.
“I will see you home,” he said to Maggie.
“No, no, you mustn’t,” she answered; her tone was vehement. She forgot Prissie’s presence, and half-turned her back on her.
“How unkind you are!” said the young man, in a low tone.
“No, Geoffrey, but I am struggling – you don’t know how hard I am struggling – to be true to myself.”
“You are altogether mistaken in your idea of truth,” said Hammond, turning, and walking a little way by her side.
“I am not mistaken – I am right.”
“Well, at least allow me to explain my side of the question.”
“No, it cannot be; there shall be no explanations, I am resolved. Good-night, you must not come any further.”
She held out her hand. Hammond took it limply between his own.
“You are very cruel,” he murmured, in the lowest of voices.
He raised his hat, forgot even to bow to Priscilla, and hurried off down a side street.
Maggie walked on a little way. Then she turned, and looked down the street where he had vanished. Suddenly she raised her hand to her lips, kissed it, and blew the kiss after the figure which had already disappeared. She laughed excitedly when she did this, and her whole face was glowing with a beautiful colour.
Prissie, standing miserable and forgotten by the tall, handsome girl’s side, could see the light in her eyes, and the glow on her checks in the lamplight.
“I am here,” said Priscilla, at last, in a low, half-frightened voice. “I am sorry I am here, but I am. I heard what you said to Mr Hammond. I am sorry I heard.”
Maggie turned slowly, and looked at her. Prissie returned her gaze. Then, as if further words were wrung from her against her will, she continued —
“I saw the tears in your eyes in the fern-house at the Marshalls’. I am very sorry, but I did see them.”
“My dear Prissie!” said Maggie. She went up suddenly to the girl, put her arm round her neck, and kissed her.
“Come home now,” she said, drawing Prissie’s hand through her arm. “I don’t think I greatly mind your knowing,” she said, after a pause. “You are true; I see it in your face. You would never tell again – you would never make mischief.”
“Tell again! Of course not.” Prissie’s words came out with great vigour.
“I know you would not, Priscilla; may I call you Priscilla?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be my friend, and shall I be your friend?”
“If you would,” said Prissie. “But you don’t mean it. It is impossible that you can mean it. I’m not a bit like you – and – and – you only say these things to be kind.”
“What do you mean, Priscilla?”
“I must tell you,” said Prissie, turning very pale. “I heard what you said to Miss Banister the night I came to the college.”
“What I said to Miss Banister? What did I say?”
“Oh, can’t you remember? The words seemed burnt into me: I shall never forget them. I had left my purse in the dining-hall, and I was going to fetch it. Your door was a little open. I heard my name, and I stopped – yes, I did stop to listen.”
“Oh, what a naughty, mean little Prissie! You stopped to listen. And what did you hear? Nothing good, of course? The bad thing was said to punish you for listening.”
“I heard,” said Priscilla, her own cheeks crimson now, “I heard you say that it gave you an aesthetic pleasure to be kind, and that was why you were good to me.”
Maggie felt her own colour rising.
“Well, my dear,” she said, “it still gives me an aesthetic pleasure to be kind. You could not expect me to fall in love with you the moment I saw you. I was kind to you then, perhaps, for the reason I stated. It is very different now.”
“It was wrong of you to be kind to me for that reason.”
“Wrong of me? What an extraordinary girl you are, Priscilla – why was it wrong of me?”
“Because I learnt to love you. You were gentle to me, and spoke courteously, when others were rude and only laughed; my whole heart went out to you when you were so sweet and gentle and kind. I did not think – I could not possibly think – that you were good just because it gave you a sort of selfish pleasure. When I heard your words I felt dreadful. I hated St. Benet’s; I wished I had never come. Your words turned everything to bitterness for me.”
“Did they really, Priscilla? Oh, Prissie! what a thoughtless, wild, impulsive creature I am. Well, I don’t feel now as I did that night. If those words were cruel, forgive me. Forget those words, Prissie.”
“I will, if you will.”
“I? I have forgotten them utterly.”
“Thank you, thank you.”
“Then we’ll be friends – real friends; true friends?”
“Yes.”
“You must say ‘Yes, Maggie.’”
“Yes, Maggie.”
“That is right. Now keep your hand in my arm. Let’s walk fast Is it not glorious to walk in this semi-frosty sort of weather? Prissie, you’ll see a vast lot that you don’t approve of in your new friend.”
“Oh, I don’t care,” said Priscilla.
She felt so joyous she could have skipped.
“I’ve as many sides,” continued Maggie, “as a chameleon has colours. I am the gayest of the gay, as well as the saddest of the sad. When I am gay you may laugh with me, but I warn you when I am sad you must never cry with me. Leave me alone when I have my dark moods on, Prissie.”
“Very well, Maggie, I’ll remember.”
“I think you’ll make a delightful friend,” said Miss Oliphant, just glancing at her; “but I pity your side of the bargain.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll try you so fearfully.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. I don’t want to have a perfect friend.”
“Perfect! No, child – Heaven forbid. But there are shades of perfection. Now, when I get into my dark moods, I feel wicked as well as sad. No, we won’t talk of them; we’ll keep them away. Prissie, I feel good to-night – good – and glad: it’s such a nice feeling.”
“I am sure of it,” said Priscilla.
“What do you know about it, child? You have not tasted life yet. Wait until you do. For instance – no, though – I won’t enlighten you. Prissie, what do you think of Geoffrey Hammond?”
“I think he loves you, very much.”
“Poor Geoffrey! Now, Prissie, you are to keep that little thought quite dark in your mind – in fact, you are to put it out of your mind. You are not to associate my name with Mr Hammond’s – not even in your thoughts. You will very likely hear us spoken of together, and some of the stupid girls here will make little quizzing, senseless remarks. But there will be no truth in them, Prissie. He is nothing to me, nor I to him.”
“Then why did you blow a kiss after him?” asked Priscilla.
Maggie stood still. It was too dark for Priscilla to see her blush.
“Oh, my many-sided nature!” she suddenly exclaimed. “It was a wicked sprite made me blow that kiss. Prissie, my dear, I am cold: race me to the house.”
The two girls entered the wide hall, flushed and laughing. Other girls were lingering about on the stairs. Some were just starting off to evening service at Kingsdene; others were standing in groups, chatting. Nancy Banister came up, and spoke to Maggie. Maggie took her arm, and walked away with her.
Prissie found herself standing alone in the hall. It was as if the delightful friendship cemented between herself and Miss Oliphant in the frosty air outside had fallen to pieces like a castle of cards the moment they entered the house. Prissie felt a chill. Her high spirits went down a very little. Then, resolving to banish the ignoble spirit of distrust, she prepared to run upstairs to her own room.
Miss Heath called her name as she was passing an open door.
“Is that you, my dear? Will you come to my room after supper to-night?”
“Oh, thank you,” said Prissie, her eyes sparkling.
Miss Heath came to the threshold of her pretty room, and smiled at the young girl.
“You look well and happy,” she said. “You are getting at home here. You will love us all yet.”
“I love you now!” said Prissie, with fervour.
Miss Heath, prompted by the look of intense and sincere gladness on the young face, bent and kissed Priscilla. A rather disagreeable voice said suddenly at her back —
“I beg your pardon,” and Lucy Marsh ran down the stairs.
She had knocked against Prissie in passing; she had witnessed Miss Heath’s kiss. The expression on Lucy’s face was unpleasant. Prissie did not notice it, however. She went slowly up to her room. The electric light was on, the fire was blazing merrily. Priscilla removed her hat and jacket, threw herself into the one easy-chair the room contained, and gave herself up to pleasant dreams. Many new aspects of life were opening before her. She felt that it was a good thing to be young, and she was distinctly conscious of a great, soft glow of happiness.
Chapter Thirteen
Caught in a Trap
College life is school life over again, but with wide differences. The restraints which characterise the existence of a school-girl are scarcely felt at all by the girl graduate. There are no punishments. Up to a certain point she is free to be industrious or not as she pleases. Some rules there are for her conduct and guidance, but they are neither many nor arbitrary. In short, the young girl graduate is no longer thought of as a child. She is a woman, with a woman’s responsibilities; she is treated accordingly.
Miss Day, Miss Marsh, Miss Merton, and one or two other congenial spirits, entered heartily into the little plot which should deprive Priscilla of Maggie Oliphant’s friendship. They were anxious to succeed in this, because their characters were low, their natures jealous and mean. Prissie had set up a higher standard than theirs, and they were determined to crush the little aspirant for moral courage. If in crushing Prissie they could also bring discredit upon Miss Oliphant, their sense of victory would have been intensified; but it was one thing for these conspirators to plot and plan, and another thing for them to perform. It is possible that in school life they might have found this easier; opportunities might have arisen for them, with mistresses to be obeyed, punishments to be dreaded, rewards to be won. At St. Benet’s there was no one especially to be obeyed, and neither rewards nor punishments entered into the lives of the girls.
Maggie Oliphant did not care in the least what girls like Miss Day or Miss Marsh said or thought about her, and Priscilla, who was very happy and industrious just now, heard many innuendoes and sly little speeches without taking in their meaning.
Still, the conspirators did not despair. The term before Christmas was in some ways rather a dull one, and they were glad of any excitement to break the monotony. As difficulties increased their ardour also deepened, and they were resolved not to leave a stone unturned to effect their object. Where there is a will there is a way. This is true as regards evil and good things alike.
One foggy morning, towards the end of November, Priscilla was standing by the door of one of the lecture-rooms, a book of French history, a French grammar and exercise-book, and a thick note-book in her hand. She was going to her French lecture, and was standing patiently by the lecture-room door, which had not yet been opened.
Priscilla’s strongest bias was for Greek and Latin, but Mr Hayes had recommended her to take up modern languages as well, and she was steadily plodding through the French and German, for which she had not so strong a liking as for her beloved classics. Prissie was a very eager learner, and she was busy now looking over her notes of the last lecture, and standing close to the door, so as to be one of the first to take her place in the lecture-room.
The rustling of a dress caused her to look round, and Rosalind Merton stood by her side. Rosalind was by no means one of the “students” of the college. She attended as few lectures as were compatible with her remaining there, but French happened to be one of the subjects which she thought it well to take up, and she appeared now by Prissie’s side with the invariable note-book, without which no girl went to lecture, in her hand.
“Isn’t it cold?” she said, shivering, and raising her pretty face to Priscilla’s.
Prissie glanced at her for a moment, said Yes; she supposed it was cold, in an abstracted voice, and bent her head once more over her note-book.
Rosalind was looking very pretty in a dress of dark blue velveteen. Her golden curly hair lay in little tendrils all over her head, and curled lovingly against her soft white throat.
“I hate Kingsdene in a fog,” she continued, “and I think it’s very wrong to keep us in this draughty passage until the lecture-room is opened. Don’t you, Miss Peel?”
“Well, we are before our time, so no one is to blame for that,” answered Priscilla.
“Of course, so we are.” Rosalind pulled out a small gold watch, which she wore at her girdle.
“How stupid of me to have mistaken the hour!” she exclaimed. Then looking hard at Prissie, she continued in an anxious tone —
“You are not going to attend any lectures this afternoon, are you, Miss Peel?”
“No,” answered Priscilla. “Why?”
Rosalind’s blue eyes looked almost pathetic in their pleading.
“I wonder,” – she began; “I’m so worried, I
wonder
if you’d do me a kindness.”
“I can’t say until you ask me,” said Priscilla; “what do you want me to do?”
“There’s a girl at Kingsdene, a Miss Forbes. She makes my dresses now and then; I had a letter from her last night, and she is going to London in a hurry, because her mother is ill. She made this dress for me; isn’t it pretty?”
“Yes,” answered Priscilla, just glancing at it. “But what connection has that with my doing anything for you?”
“Oh, a great deal; I’m coming to that part. Miss Forbes wants me to pay her for making this dress before she goes to London. I can only do this by going to Kingsdene this afternoon.”
“Well?” said Priscilla.
“I want to know if you will come with me. Miss Heath does not like our going to the town alone, particularly at this time of year, when the evenings are so short. Will you come with me, Miss Peel? It will be awfully good-natured of you, and I really do want poor Miss Forbes to have her money before she goes to London.”
“But cannot some of your own friends go with you?” returned Priscilla. “I don’t wish to refuse, of course, if it is necessary; but I want to work up my Greek notes this afternoon. The next lecture is a very stiff one, and I sha’n’t be ready for it without some hard work.”
“Oh, but you can study when you come back.
Do
come with me. I would not ask you, only I know you are so good-natured, and Annie Day and Lucy Marsh have both to attend lectures this afternoon. I have no one to ask – no one, really, if you refuse. I have not half so many friends as you think, and it would be quite too dreadful for poor Miss Forbes not to have her money when she wants to spend it on her sick mother.”
Priscilla hesitated for a moment. Two or three other girls were walking down the corridor to the lecture-room; the door was flung open.
“Very well,” she said, as she entered the room, followed by Rosalind, “I will go with you. At what hour do you want to start?”
“At three o’clock. I’m awfully grateful. A thousand thanks, Miss Peel.”
Prissie nodded, seated herself at the lecture-table, and in the interest of the work which lay before her soon forgot all about Rosalind and her troubles.
The afternoon of that day turned out not only foggy, but wet. A drizzling rain shrouded the landscape, and very few girls from St. Benet’s were venturing abroad.
At half-past two Nancy Banister came hastily into Priscilla’s room.
“Maggie and I are going down to the library,” she said, “to have a cosy read by the fire; we want you to come with us. Why, surely you are never going out, Miss Peel?”
“Yes, I am,” answered Prissie, in a resigned voice. “I don’t like it a bit, but Miss Merton has asked me to go with her to Kingsdene, and I promised.”
“Well, you sha’n’t keep your promise. This is not a fit day for you to go out, and you have a cough, too. I heard you coughing last night.”
“Yes, but that is nothing. I must go, Miss Banister; I must keep my word. I daresay it won’t take Miss Merton and me very long to walk into Kingsdene and back again.”
“And I never knew that Rosalind Merton was one of your friends, Prissie,” continued Nancy, in a puzzled voice.
“Nor is she – I scarcely know her; but when she asked me to go out with her, I could not very well say no.”
“I suppose not; but I am sorry, all the same, for it is not a fit day for anyone to be abroad, and Rosalind is such a giddy pate. Well, come back as soon as you can. Maggie and I are going to have a jolly time, and we only wish you were with us.”
Nancy nodded brightly, and took her leave, and Priscilla, putting on her waterproof and her shabbiest hat, went down into the hall to meet Rosalind.
Rosalind was also in waterproof, but her hat was extremely pretty and becoming, and Priscilla fancied she got a glimpse of a gay silk dress under the waterproof cloak.
“Oh, how quite too sweet of you to be ready!” said Rosalind, with effusion. She took Prissie’s hand and squeezed it affectionately, and the two girls set off.
The walk was a dreary one, for Kingsdene, one of the most beautiful places in England in fine weather, lies so low, that in the winter months fogs are frequent, and the rain is almost incessant, so that then the atmosphere is always damp and chilly. By the time the two girls had got into the High Street, Prissie’s thick, sensible boots were covered with mud, and Rosalind’s thin ones felt very damp to her feet.
They soon reached the quarter where the dressmaker, Miss Forbes, lived. Prissie was asked to wait downstairs, and Rosalind ran up several flights of stairs to fulfil her mission. She came back at the end of a few minutes, looking bright and radiant.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Peel,” she said, “but my boots were so muddy that Miss Forbes insisted on polishing them up for me.”
“Well, we can go home now, I suppose?” said Prissie.
“Ye-es; only as we
are
here, would you greatly mind our going round by Bouverie Street? I want to inquire for a friend of mine, Mrs Elliot-Smith. She has not been well.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Priscilla. “Will it take us much out of our way?”
“No, only a step or two. Come, we have just to turn this corner, and here we are. What a dear – quite too good-natured girl you are, Miss Peel!” Prissie said nothing. The two started forth again in the drizzling mist and fog, and presently found themselves in one of the most fashionable streets of Kingsdene, and standing before a ponderous hall-door, which stood back in a portico.
Rosalind rang the bell, which made a loud peal. The door was opened almost immediately; but, instead of a servant appearing in answer to the summons, a showily dressed girl, with a tousled head of flaxen hair, light blue eyes, and a pale face, stood before Rosalind and Prissie.
“Oh, you dear Rose!” she said, clasping her arms round Miss Merton, and dragging her into the house: “I had almost given you up. Do come in – do come in, both of you. You are more than welcome. What a miserable, horrid, too utterly depressing afternoon it is!”
“How do you do, Meta?” said Rosalind, when she could interrupt this eager flow of words. “May I introduce my friend, Miss Peel? Miss Peel, this is my very great and special friend and chum, Meta Elliot-Smith.”
“Oh, you charming darling!” said Meta, giving Rose a fresh hug, and glancing in a supercilious but friendly way at Prissie.
“We came to inquire for your mother, dear Meta,” said Rose, in a demure tone. “Is she any better?”
“Yes, my dear darling, she’s much better.” Meta’s eyes flashed interrogation into Rose’s: Rose’s returned back glances, which spoke whole volumes of meaning.
“Look here,” said Meta Elliot-Smith, “now that you two dear, precious girls have come, you mustn’t go away. Oh, no, I couldn’t hear of it. I have perfect oceans to say to you, Rose – and it is absolutely centuries since we have met. Off with your waterproof, and up you come to the drawing-room for a cup of tea. One or two friends are dropping in presently, and the Beechers and one or two more are upstairs now. You know the Beechers, don’t you, Rosalind? Here, Miss Peel, let me help you to unburden yourself. Little Rose is so nimble in her ways that she doesn’t need any assistance.”
“Oh, but indeed I can’t stay,” said Prissie. “It is quite impossible! You know, Miss Merton, it is impossible. We are due at St. Benet’s now. We ought to be going back at once.”
Rosalind Merton’s only answer was to slip off her waterproof cloak, and stand arrayed in a fascinating toilet of silk and lace – a little too dressy, perhaps, even for an afternoon party at Kingsdene, but vastly becoming to its small wearer.
Priscilla opened her eyes wide as she gazed at her companion. She saw at once that she had been entrapped into her present false position, and that Rosalind’s real object in coming to Kingsdene was not to pay her dressmaker, but to visit the Elliot-Smiths.
“I can’t possibly stay,” she said in a cold, angry voice. “I must go back to St. Benet’s at once.”
She began to button up her waterproof as fast as Miss Elliot-Smith was unbuttoning it.
“Nonsense, you silly old dear!” said Rosalind, who, having gained her way, was now in the best of spirits. “You mustn’t listen to her, Meta; she studies a great deal too hard, and a little relaxation will do her all the good in the world. My dear Miss Peel, you can’t be so rude as to refuse a cup of tea, and I know I shall catch an awful cold if I don’t have one. Do come upstairs for half an hour;
do
, there’s a dear Prissie!”
Priscilla hesitated. She had no knowledge of so-called “society.” Her instincts