by L. T. Meade
words. She was a bright-eyed,merry-looking girl, the reverse of over-studious herself.
"Oh, come along, dear: I'll give you such a delicious cup of cocoa,"said Miss Day.
She crossed the room, and tried to link her hand affectionately inPrissie's arm. Miss Peel drew back a step.
"Thank you," she said, "but I--I--cannot come."
"I must say you have a blunt way of refusing," said Miss Day. She feltinclined to be offended, but Nancy Banister, who was standing by, andhad not hitherto spoken, bestowed a quick glance of approval onPriscilla, and then said something soothing to Miss Day.
"May I cocoa with you instead, Annie?" she said. "I am afraid no onecan accuse me of killing myself with work, but we all respect earnestworkers--we must. It is for them St Benet's is really meant. It wasendowed for them, and built for them, and we poor drones must not throwdisparaging remarks on the busy bees."
"Oh, nonsense!" said Miss Marsh; "St Benet's was made for sociabilityas well as study, and I have no patience with the students who don't tryto combine the two. By the way," she added, turning round, and speakingin a rather impertinent voice to Priscilla, "I sent you a message to sayI was going down to Kingsdene this afternoon, and would be happy to takeyou with me if you would care to visit Spilman's."
"Thank you," said Priscilla, "I got your note just too late to answerit. I was going to speak to you about it," she added.
"Then you would have come?"
Priscilla's face grew very red.
"No, I should not have come."
It was Miss Marsh's turn to get red.
"Come! Annie," she exclaimed, turning to Miss Day, "we had better wasteno more time here. Miss Banister, we'll see you presently, won't we?Good-night, Miss Peel. Perhaps you don't mind my saying something veryfrank?"
"I do," said Priscilla, "but that won't prevent your saying it, willit?"
"I don't think it will. After you have been at St Benet's a littlelonger you will know that we not only appreciate cleverness and studiousways, but also obliging and sociable and friendly manners; and--and--pretty rooms--rooms with easy-chairs, and comfortable lounges, and thethousand and one things which give one a feeling of home. Take myadvice, Miss Peel, there's no use fighting against the tide. You'llhave to do as others do in the long run, and you may as well do it atonce. That is my plain opinion, and I should not have given it to you,if I had not thought you needed it. Good-night."
"No, stop a minute," said Priscilla. Every scrap of colour had left herface, every trace of nervousness her manner. She walked before the twogirls to the door, and closed it. "Please stay just for a minutelonger, Miss Day and Miss Marsh, and you too, Miss Banister, if youwill."
She went across the room again, and, opening the top drawer of herbureau, took out her purse. Out of the purse she took a key. The keyfitted a small padlock, and the padlock belonged to her trunk. Sheunlocked her empty trunk and opened it.
"There," she said, turning to the girls--"there," she continued, "youwill be good enough to notice that there are no photographs concealed inthis trunk, no pictures, no prints." She lifted the tray. "Empty, yousee," she added, pointing with her hand to the lower portion of thetrunk--"nothing here to make my room pretty, and cosy, and home-like."Then she shut the trunk again and locked it, and going up to where thethree girls stood, gazing at her in bewilderment and some alarm, sheunfastened her purse, and turned all its contents into the palm of herhand.
"Look, Miss Marsh," she said, turning to the girl who had spoken last."You may count what is here. One sovereign, one half-sovereign, two orthree shillings, some pence. Would this money go far at Spilman's, doyou think?"
Priscilla put it all slowly back again into her purse. Her face wasstill absolutely colourless. She laid the purse on the top of herbureau.
"I do not suppose," she said, in a low, sad voice, "that I am the sortof girl who often comes to a place of this sort. I am poor, and I havegot to work hard, and I have no time for pleasure. Nevertheless," sheadded--and now a great wave of colour swept over her face, and her eyeswere lit up, and she had a sensation of feeling quite glad, and strong,and happy--"I am not going away because I am poor, and I am not going tomind what anyone thinks of me as long as I do right. My room must stayempty and bare, because I have no money to make it full and beautiful.And do you think that I would ask those--those who sent me here--to addone feather's weight to their cares and expenses, to give me money tobuy beautiful things because I am afraid of you? No, I should be_awfully_ afraid to do that; but I am not afraid of you."
Priscilla opened the drawer of her bureau and put her little light purseback again in its hiding-place.
"Good-night, Miss Peel," said Miss Day, in a thin, small kind of voice.
"Good-night, Miss Peel," said Miss Marsh. The girls went gently out ofthe room. They closed the door behind them, without making any noise.Nancy Banister remained behind. She came up to Priscilla, and kissedher.
"You are brave," she said. "I admire you. I--I--am proud of you. I amglad to know that a girl like you has come to live here."
"Don't--don't," said poor Prissie. Her little burst of courage haddeserted her. She covered her face with her trembling hands. She didnot want Nancy Banister to see that her eyes were full of tears.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
IN MISS OLIPHANT'S ROOM.
"My dear," said Nancy Banister that same evening--"my dear and belovedMaggie, we have both been guilty of a huge mistake."
"What is that?" asked Miss Oliphant. She was leaning back in a deepeasy-chair, and Nancy, who did not care for luxurious seats, had perchedherself on a little stool at her feet. Nancy was a small,nervous-looking person; she had a zealous face, and eager, almost tooactive movements. Nancy was the soul of bustling good-nature, ofbrightness and kindness. She often said that Maggie Oliphant's lazinessrested her.
"What is it?" said Maggie, again. "How are we in the wrong, Nance?"
She lifted her dimpled hand as she spoke, and contemplated it with aslow, satisfied sort of smile.
"We have made a mistake about Miss Peel, that is all; she is a verynoble girl."
"Oh, my dear Nance! Poor little Puritan Prissie! What next?"
"It is all very fine to call her names," replied Nancy--here she sprangto her feet--"but _I_ couldn't do what she did. Do you know that sheabsolutely and completely turned the tables on that vulgar Annie Day andthat pushing, silly little Lucy Marsh. I never saw any two look smalleror poorer than those two when they skedaddled out of her room. Yes,that's the word--they skedaddled to the door, both of them, looking aslimp as a cotton dress when it has been worn for a week, and one almosttreading on the other's heels; and I do not think Prissie will beworried by them any more."
"Really, Nancy, you look quite pretty when you are excited! Now, whatdid this wonderful Miss Peel do? Did she box the ears of those twodetestable girls? If so, she has my hearty congratulations."
"More than that, Maggie--that poor, little, meek, awkward, slim creatureabsolutely demolished them. Oh! she did it in such a fine, simple,unworldly sort of way. I only wish you had seen her! They weretwitting her about not going in for all the fun here, and, aboveeverything, for keeping her room so bare and unattractive. You know shehas been a fortnight here to-day, and she has not got an extra thing--not one. There isn't a room in the Hall like hers--it's so bare andunhomelike. What's the matter, Maggie?"
"You needn't go on, Nancy: if it's about the room, I don't want to hearit. You know I can't--I can't bear it."
Maggie's lips were trembling, her face was white, she shaded her eyeswith her hand.
"Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I forgot--I really did! There, youmust try and think it was any room. What she did was all the same.Well, those girls had been twitting her. I expect she's had a nicefortnight of it! She turned very white, and at last her blood was up,and she just gave it to them. She opened her little trunk. I reallycould have cried. It was such a poor, pathetic sort of receptacl
e to becapable of holding all one's worldly goods, and she showed it to them--empty! `You see,' she said, `that I have no pictures nor ornamentshere!' Then she turned the contents of her purse into her hand. Ithink, Maggie, she had about thirty shillings in the world, and sheasked Lucy Marsh to count her money, and inquired how many things shethought it would purchase at Spilman's. Then, Maggie, Priscilla turnedon them. Oh, she did not look plain, then, nor awkward either. Hereyes had such a splendid, good, brave sort of light in them. And shesaid she
