The fun and talk rose fast and furious. More and more guests arrived; the large drawing-rooms were soon almost as full as they could hold. Priscilla, from her corner, half-hidden by a sheltering window curtain, looked in vain for Rosalind. Where had she hidden herself? When were they going away? Surely Rosalind would come to fetch her soon? They had to walk home and be ready for dinner.

Dinner at St. Benet’s was at half-past six, and Prissie reflected with a great sensation of thankfulness that Rosalind and she must go back in good time for this meal, as it was one of the rules of the college that no girl should absent herself from late dinner without getting permission from the Principal.

Prissie looked in agony at the clock which stood on a mantelpiece not far from where she had ensconced herself. Presently it struck five; no one heard its silver note in the babel of sound, but Priscilla watched its slowly moving hands in an agony.

Rose must come to fetch her presently. Prissie knew – she reflected to her horror that she had not the moral courage to walk about those drawing-rooms hunting for Rose.

Two or three exquisitely dressed but frivolous-looking women stood in a group not far from the window where Priscilla sat forlorn. They talked about the cut of their mantles, and the price they had given for their new winter bonnets. Their shrill laughter reached Prissie’s ears, also their words. They complimented one another, but talked scandal of their neighbours. They called somebody – who, Prissie could not imagine – “a certain lady,” and spoke of how she was angling to get a footing in society, and how the good set at Kingsdene would certainly never have anything to do with her or hers.

“She’s taking up those wretched girl graduates,” said one of these gossips to her neighbour. Then her eye fell upon Prissie. She said “Hush!” in an audible tone, and the little party moved away out of earshot.

The minute hand of the clock on the mantelpiece pointed to nearly half-past five. Poor Prissie felt her miseries grow almost intolerable. Tears of mortification and anguish were forcing themselves to her eyes. She felt that, in addition to having lost so many hours of study, she would get into a serious scrape at St. Benet’s for breaking one of the known rules of the college.

At this moment a quiet voice said, “How do you do?”

She raised her tearful eyes. Geoffrey Hammond was standing by her side. He gave her a kind glance, shook hands with her, and stood by her window uttering commonplaces until Priscilla had recovered her self-possession. Then, dropping into a chair near, he said, abruptly —

“I saw you from the other end of the room. I was surprised. I did not suppose you knew our hostess.”

“Nor do I really,” said Prissie, with sudden vehemence. “Oh, it’s a shame!” she added, her face reddening up woefully; “I have been entrapped!”

“You must not let the people who are near us hear you say words of that kind,” said Hammond; “they will crowd around to hear your story. Now, I want it all to myself. Do you think you can tell it to me in a low voice?”

To poor Hammond’s horror Prissie began to whisper.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, interrupting her, “but do you know that the buzzing noise caused by a whisper carries sound a long way? That is a well authenticated fact. Now, if you will try to speak low.”

“Oh, thank you; yes, I will,” said Prissie. She began a garbled account Hammond looked at her face and guessed the truth. The miseries of her present position were depriving the poor girl of the full use of her intellect. At last he ascertained that Priscilla’s all-absorbing present anxiety was to be in time for the half-past six dinner at St. Benet’s.

“I know we’ll be late,” she said, “and I’ll have broken the rules, and Miss Heath will be so much annoyed with me.”

Hammond volunteered to look for Miss Merton.

“Oh, thank you,” said Prissie, the tears springing to her eyes. “How very, very kind you are.”

“Please don’t speak of it,” said Hammond. “Stay where you are. I’ll soon bring the young truant to your side.”

He began to move about the drawing-rooms, and Prissie from her hiding-place watched him with a world of gratitude in her face. “Talk of my stirring from this corner,” she said to herself, “why, I feel glued to the spot! Oh, my awful muddy boots. I daren’t even think of them. Now I do hope Mr Hammond will find Miss Merton quickly. How kind he is! I wonder Maggie does not care for him as much as he cares for her. I do not feel half as shy with him as I do with everyone else in this dreadful – dreadful room. Oh, I do trust he’ll soon come back, and bring Miss Merton with him. Then, if we run all the way, we may, perhaps, be in time for dinner.”

Hammond was absent about ten minutes; they seemed like so many hours to anxious Prissie. To her horror she saw him returning alone, and now she so far forgot her muddy boots as to run two or three steps to meet him. She knocked over a footstool as she did so, and one or two people looked round, and shrugged their shoulders at the poor gauche girl.

“Where is she?” exclaimed Prissie, again speaking in a loud voice. “Oh, haven’t you brought her? What shall I do?”

“It’s all right, I assure you, Miss Peel. Let me conduct you back to that snug seat in the window. I have seen Miss Merton, and she says you are to make yourself happy. She asked Miss Heath’s permission for you both to be absent from dinner to-day.”

“She did? I never heard of anything so outrageous. I won’t stay. I shall go away at once.”

“Had you not better just think calmly over it? If you return to St. Benet’s without Miss Merton, you will get her into a scrape.”

“Do you think I care for that? Oh, she has behaved disgracefully! She has told Miss Heath a lie. I shall explain matters the very moment I go back.”

Priscilla was not often in a passion, but she felt in one now. She lost her shyness, and her voice rose without constraint.

“I am not supposed to know the ways of society,” she said, “but I don’t think I want to know much about this sort of society.” And she got up, prepared to leave the room.

The ladies, who had been gossiping at her side, turned at the sound of her agitation. They saw a plain, badly-dressed girl, with a frock conveniently short for the muddy streets, but by no means in tone with her present elegant surroundings, standing up and contradicting, or at least appearing to contradict, Geoffrey Hammond, one of the best known men at St. Hilda’s, a Senior Wrangler, too. What did this gauche girl mean? Most people were deferential to Hammond, but she seemed to be scolding him.

Prissie for the time being became more interesting even than the winter fashions. The ladies drew a step or two nearer to enjoy the little comedy.

Priscilla noticed no one, but Hammond felt these good ladies in the air. His checks burned, and he wished himself well out of his present position.

“If you will sit down, Miss Peel,” he said, in a low, firm voice, “I think I can give you good reasons for not rushing away in this headlong fashion.”

“Well, what are they?” said Prissie. Hammond’s voice had a sufficiently compelling power to make her sit down once more on her window-ledge.

“Don’t you think,” he said, seating himself in front of her, “that we may as well keep this discussion to ourselves?”

“Oh, yes; was I speaking too loud? I wouldn’t vex you for anything.”

“Pardon me; you are still speaking a little loud.”

“Oh!” Poor Prissie fell back, her face crimson. “Please say anything you wish,” she presently piped in a voice as low as a little mouse might have used.

“What I have to say is simply this,” said Hammond: “You will gain nothing now by rushing off to St. Benet’s. However hard you struggle, you cannot get there in time for dinner. Would it not be best, then, to remain here quietly until Miss Merton asks you to accompany her back to the college? Then, of course, it will remain with you to pay her out in any way you think well.”

“Thank you; perhaps that is best. It is quite hopeless now to think of getting back in time for dinner. I only hope Miss Merton won’t keep me waiting very long, for it is very, very dull sitting here, and seeing people staring at you.”

“I would not look at them if I were you, Miss Peel; and, if you will permit me, I shall be only too pleased to keep you company.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Prissie. “Then I sha’n’t mind staying at all.”

The next half-hour seemed to pass on the wings of the wind.

Priscilla was engaged in an animated discussion with Hammond on the relative attractions of the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey;” her opinion differed from his, and she was well able to hold her ground. Her face was now both eloquent and attractive, her eyes were bright, her words terse and epigrammatic. She looked so different a girl from the cowed and miserable little Prissie of an hour ago that Rosalind Merton, as she came up and tapped her on the shoulder, felt a pang of envy.

“I am sorry to interrupt you,” she said, “but it is time for us to be going home. Have you given Mr Hammond his message?”

“What do you mean?” asked Priscilla. “I have not any message for Mr Hammond.”

“You must have forgotten. Did not Miss Oliphant give you a letter for him?”

“Certainly not. What do you mean?”

“I felt sure I saw her,” said Rosalind. “I suppose I was mistaken. Well, sorry as I am to interrupt a pleasant talk, I fear I must ask you to come home with me now.”

She raised her pretty baby eyes to Hammond’s face as she spoke. He absolutely scowled down at her, shook hands warmly with Priscilla, and turned away.

“Come and bid Mrs Elliot-Smith good-bye,” said Rosalind, her eyes still dancing. “She is at the other end of the drawing-room; come, you can follow me.”

“How disgracefully you have behaved, Miss Merton!” began Priscilla at once. “You cannot expect me ever to speak to you again, and I shall certainly tell Miss Heath.”

They were walking across the crowded drawing-room now. Rosalind turned, and let her laughing eyes look full at Prissie.

“My dear Miss Peel, pray reserve any little scolding you intend to bestow upon me until we get out into the street, and please do not tread upon my dress!”

Chapter Fifteen
Polly Singleton

Miss Day was having quite a large party for cocoa in her room. She had invited not only her own chosen friends from Heath Hall, but also two or three congenial spirits from Katharine Hall. Five or six merry-looking girls were now assembled in her room. Miss Day’s room was one of the largest in the college; it was showily furnished, with an intention to produce a Japanese effect. Several paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and were suspended to wire supports, which were fastened to different articles of furniture.

In honour of Miss Day’s cocoa, the lanterns were all lit now, and the effect, on fans and pictures and on brilliant bits of colour, was grotesque and almost bizarre.

Miss Day thought her room lovely. It was dazzling, but the reverse of reposeful.

The girls were lounging about, chatting and laughing; they were having a good time, and were absolutely at their case. One, a red-haired girl, with frank, open blue eyes, and a freckled face, an inmate of Katharine Hall, was sending her companions into fits of laughter.

“Yes,” she was saying, in a high, gay voice, “I’m not a bit ashamed of it; there’s never the least use in not owning the truth. I’m used up, girls: I haven’t a penny piece to bless myself with, and this letter came from Spilman to-night. Spilman says he’ll see Miss Eccleston if I don’t pay up. Madame Clarice wrote two nights ago declaring her intention of visiting Miss Eccleston if I didn’t send her some money. I shall have no money until next term. There’s a state of affairs!”

“What do you mean to do, Polly?” asked Lucy Marsh, in a sympathising tone.

“Do? My dear creature, there’s only one thing to be done. I must have an auction on the quiet I shall sell my worldly all. I can buy things again, you know, after dad sends me his next allowance.”

“Oh, Polly, but you cannot really mean it!” Miss Marsh, Miss Day, and two or three more crowded round Polly Singleton as they spoke.

“You can’t mean to have an auction,” began Miss Day; “no one ever heard of such a thing at St. Benet’s. Why, it would be simply disgraceful!”

“No, it wouldn’t – don’t turn cross, Annie. I’ll have an auction first, and then a great feed in the empty room. I can go on tick for the feed; Jones, the confectioner, knows better than not to oblige me. He’s not like that horrid Spilman and that mean Madame Clarice.”

“But, Polly, if you write to your father, he’ll be sure to send you what you want to clear off those two debts. You have often told us he has lots of money.”

“My dears, he has more tin than he knows what to do with; but do you think I am going to have the poor old dear worried? When I was coming here he said, ‘Polly, you shall have thirty pounds every term to spend as pocket-money; not a penny more, not a penny less. And you must keep out of debt on it; mind that, Polly Singleton.’ I gave the dear old dad a hug. He’s the image of me – only with redder hair and more freckles. And I said, ‘I’ll do my best, dad, and anyhow, you sha’n’t be put out whatever happens.’”

“Then you didn’t tell him you’d keep out of debt?”

“No, for I knew I’d break my word. I’ve always been in debt ever since I could remember. I wouldn’t know how it felt not to owe a lot of money. It’s habit, and I don’t mind it a bit. But I don’t want dad to know, and I don’t want Miss Eccleston to know, for perhaps she would write to him. If those old horrors won’t wait for their money till next term, why there’s nothing for it but an auction. I have some nice things, and they’ll go very cheap; so there’s a chance for you all, girls.”

“But if Miss Eccleston finds out?” said Miss Day.

“What if she does? There’s no rule against auctions, and, as I don’t suppose any of you will have one, it isn’t worth making a rule for me alone. Anyhow, I’m resolved to risk it. My auction will be on Monday, and I shall make out an inventory of my goods to-morrow.”

“Will you advertise it on the notice-board in your hall, dear?” asked Lucy Marsh.

“Why not? A good idea! The great A. will be held in Miss Singleton’s room, from eight to ten o’clock on the evening of Monday next. Great Bargains! Enormous Sacrifice! Things absolutely given away! Oh, what fun! I’ll be my own auctioneer.”

Polly lay back in her armchair, and laughed loudly.

“What is all this noise about?” asked a refined little voice, and Rosalind Merton entered the room.

Two or three girls jumped up at once to greet her.

“Come in, Rosie; you’re just in time. What do you think Miss Singleton is going to do now?”

“I can’t tell; what?” asked Rosalind. “Something outré, I feel certain.”

Polly made a wry face, and winked her eyes at her companions.

“I know I’m not refined enough for you, Miss Merton,” she drawled. “I’m rough, like my dad, rough and ready; but, at any rate, I’m honest – at least, I think I’m honest. When I owe money, I don’t leave a stone unturned to pay what I owe. Having sinned, I repent. I enter the Valley of Humiliation, and give up all: who can do more?”

“Oh, dear, Polly, I don’t think I’d call owing a little money, sinning,” said Lucy Marsh, whose ideas were known to be somewhat lax.

“Well, my dear, there’s nothing for those in debt but to sell their possessions. My auction is on Monday. Will you come, Rosalind?”

“You don’t mean it?” said Rose, her blue eyes beginning to sparkle.

“Yes, I do, absolutely and truly mean it.”

“And you will sell your things – your lovely things?”

“My things, my lovely, lovely things must be sold.”

“But not your clothes? Your new sealskin jacket, for instance?”

Polly made a wry face for a moment. Putting her hand into her pocket she pulled out Spilman’s and Madame Clarice’s two bills.

“I owe a lot,” she said, looking with a rueful countenance at the sum total. “Yes, I even fear the sealskin must go. I don’t want to part with it; dad gave it me just before I came here.”

“It’s a lovely seal,” said Annie Day, “and it seems a sin to part with it; it’s cut in the most stylish way too, with those high shoulders.”

“Don’t praise it, please,” said Polly, lying back in her chair, and covering her eyes with her hand. “It cuts like a knife to part with dad’s last present. Well, I’m rightly punished. What a fool I was to get all those Japanese things from Spilman, and that fancy ball-dress for the theatricals. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!”

“Perhaps you won’t want to part with your seal, dear,” said Lucy, who was not so greedy as some of the other girls, and really pitied Polly. “You have so many beautiful things without that, that you will be sure to realise a good bit of money.”

“No, Lucy, I owe such a lot; the seal must go. Oh, what a worry it is!”

“And at auctions of this kind,” said Rosalind, in her low voice, “even beautiful things don’t realise much. How can they?”

“Rosalind is after that seal,” whispered Lucy to Annie Day.

“The seal would swallow you up, Rosie,” said Annie, in a loud voice. “Don’t aspire to it; you’d never come out alive.”

“The seal can be brought to know good manners,” retorted Rose, angrily. “His size can be diminished, and his strength abated. But I have not said that I want him at all. You do so jump to conclusions, Miss Day.”

“I know what I want,” said a girl called Hetty Jones, who had not yet spoken: “I’m going in for some of Polly’s ornaments. You won’t put too big a price upon your corals, will you, Poll?”

“I shall bid for your American rocking-chair, Polly,” exclaimed Miss Day.

“I tell you what you must do, Miss Singleton,” shouted another girl, “you must get those inventories ready as soon as possible, and send them round the college for everyone to read, for you have got such nice things that there will be sure to be a great rush at your auction.”

“Don’t sell any of the college possessions by mistake, my dear,” said Lucy Marsh. “You would get into trouble then. Indeed, as it is, I don’t see how you are to keep out of it.”

Polly pushed her hands impatiently through her bright red hair.

“Who’s afraid?” she said, and laughed.

“When are we to see your things, Polly?” asked Miss Jones. “If the auction is on Monday, there must be a show day, when we can all go round and inspect. I know that’s always done at auctions, for I’ve been at several in the country. The show day is the best fun of all. The farmers’ wives come and pinch the feather-beds between their thumbs and forefingers, and hold the blankets up to the light to see if the moths have got in.”

“Hetty, how vulgar!” interposed Miss Day. “What has Polly’s auction of her recherché things to do with blankets and feather-beds? Now the cocoa is ready. Who will help me to carry the cups round?”

“I had some fun to-day,” said Rosalind, when each of the girls, provided with their cups of cocoa, sat round and began to sip. “I took Miss Propriety to town with me.”

“Oh, did you, darling? Do tell us all about it!” said Annie Day, running up to Rosalind and taking her hand.

“There isn’t much to tell. She behaved as I expected; her manners are not graceful, but she’s a deep one.”

“Anybody can see that who looks at her,” remarked Lucy Marsh.

“We went to the Elliot-Smiths’,” continued Rosalind.

“Good gracious, Rosie!” interrupted Hetty Jones. “You don’t mean to say you took Propriety to that house?”

“Yes; why not? It’s the jolliest house in Kingsdene.”

“But fancy taking poor Propriety there. What did she say?”

“Say? She scolded a good deal.”

“Scolded! Poor little proper thing! How I should have liked to have seen her. Did she open her purse, and exhibit its emptiness to the company at large? Did she stand on a chair and lecture the frivolous people who assemble in that house on the emptiness of life? Oh, how I wish I could have looked on at the fun!”

“You’d have beheld an edifying sight then, my dear,” said Rosalind. “Prissie’s whole behaviour was one to be copied. No words can describe her tact and grace.”

“But what did she do, Rosie? I wish you would speak out and tell us. You know you are keeping something back.”

“Whenever she saw me she scolded me, and she tripped over my dress several times.”

“Oh, you dear, good, patient Rosalind, what a bore she must have been.”

“No, she wasn’t, for I scarcely saw anything of her. She amused herself capitally without me, I can tell you.”

“Amused herself? Propriety amused herself? How diverting! Could she stoop to it?”

“She did. She stooped and – conquered. She secured for herself an adorer.”

“Rosalind, how absurd you are! Poor, Plain Propriety!”

“As long as I live I shall hate the letter P,” suddenly interrupted Annie Day, “for since that disagreeable girl has got into the house we are always using it.”

“Never mind, Rosalind; go on with your story,” said Miss Jones. “What did Plain Propriety do?” Rosalind threw up her hands, rolled her eyes skywards, and uttered the terse remark —

“She flirted!”

“Oh, Rosie! who would flirt with her? I suppose she got hold of some old rusty, musty don. But then I do not suppose you’d find that sort of man at the Elliot-Smiths’.”

This remark came from Lucy Marsh. Rosalind Merton, who was leaning her fair head against a dark velvet cushion, looked as if she enjoyed the situation immensely.

“What do you say to a Senior Wrangler?” she asked, in a gentle voice.

“Rosalind, what – not the Senior Wrangler?” Rosalind nodded.

“Oh! oh! oh! what could he see – Geoffrey Hammond, of all people! He’s so exclusive, too.”

“Well,” said Hetty Jones, standing up reluctantly, for she felt it was time to return to her neglected studies, “wonders will never cease! I could not have supposed that Mr Hammond would condescend to go near the Elliot-Smiths’, and most certainly I should never have guessed that he would look at a girl like Priscilla Peel.”

“Well, he flirted with her,” said Rosalind, “and she with him. They were so delighted with one another that I could scarcely get Prissie away when it was time to leave. They looked quite engrossed – you know the kind of air – there was no mistaking it!”

“Miss Peel must have thanked you for taking her.”

“Thanked me? That’s not Miss Prissie’s style. I could see she was awfully vexed at being disturbed.”

“Well, it’s rather shabby,” said Polly Singleton, speaking for the first time. “Everyone at St. Benet’s knows to whom Mr Hammond belongs.”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course,” cried several voices.

“And Maggie has been so kind to Miss Peel,” continued Polly.

“Yes – shame! – how mean of little Propriety!” the voices echoed again.

Rosalind gave a meaning glance at Annie Day. Annie raised her eyebrows, looked interrogative, then her face subsided into a satisfied expression. She asked no further questions, but she gave Rosalind an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

Soon the other girls came up one by one to say good-night. Rosalind, Annie, and Lucy were alone. They drew their chairs together, and began to talk.