by L. T. Meade
Street. Maggie walked on in front with Constance. Hammond fell toPriscilla's share.
"I am delighted to see you again," she said, in her eager, agitated,abrupt way.
"Are you?" he replied in some astonishment. Then he hastened to saysomething polite. "I forgot, we had not ended our discussion. Youalmost convinced me with regard to the superior merits of the `Odyssey,'but not quite. Shall we renew the subject now?"
"No, please don't. That's not why I'm glad to see you. It's forsomething quite, quite different. I want to say something to you, andit's most important. Can't we just keep back a little from the others?I don't want Maggie to hear."
Now why were Miss Oliphant's ears so sharp that afternoon? Why, even inthe midst of her gay chatter to Constance, did she hear every word ofPriscilla's queer, garbled speech? And why did astonishment and evenanger steal into her heart?
What she did, however, was to gratify Prissie immensely by hurrying onwith her companion, so that she and Hammond were left comfortably in thebackground.
"I don't quite know what you mean," he said, stiffly. "What can youpossibly have of importance to say to me?"
"I don't want Maggie to hear," repeated Prissie, in her earnest voice.She knew far too little of the world to be in the least alarmed atHammond's stately tones.
"What I want to say is about Maggie, and yet it isn't."
"About Miss Oliphant?"
"Oh, yes, but she's Maggie to me. She's the dearest, the best--there'sno one like her, no one. I didn't understand her at first, but now Iknow how noble she is. I had no idea until I knew Maggie that a personcould have faults, and yet be noble. It's a new sort of experience tome."
Prissie's eyes, in which even in her worst moments there always sat thesoul of a far-reaching sort of intelligence, were shining now throughtears. Hammond saw the tears, and the lovely expression in the eyes,and said to himself--
"Good heavens, could I ever have regarded that dear child as plain?"Aloud, he said, in a softened voice, "I'm awfully obliged to you forsaying these sorts of things of Miss--Miss Oliphant, but you must know,at least you must guess, that I--I have thought them for myself long,long ago."
"Yes, of course, I know that. But have you much faith? Do you keep towhat you believe?"
"This is a most extraordinary girl!" murmured Hammond. Then he saidaloud, "I fail to understand you."
They had now nearly reached the Marshalls' door. The other two werewaiting for them.
"It's this," said Prissie, clasping her hands hard, and speaking in hermost emphatic and distressful way. "There are unkind things being saidof Maggie, and there's one girl who is horrid to her--horrid! I wantyou not to believe a word that girl says."
"What girl do you mean?"
"You were walking with her just now."
"Really, Miss Peel, you are the most extraordinary--"
But Maggie Oliphant's clear, sweet voice interrupted them.
"Had we not better come into the house?" she said. "The door has beenopen for quite half a minute."
Poor Prissie rushed in first, covered with shame; Miss Field hastenedafter, to bear her company; and Hammond and Maggie brought up the rear.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
A PAINTER.
The Marshalls were always at home to their friends on Friday afternoons,and there were already several guests in the beautiful, quaint olddrawing-room when the quartette entered. Mrs Marshall, her white hairlooking lovely under her soft lace cap, came forward to meet hervisitors. Her kind eyes looked with appreciation and welcome at one andall. Blushing and shamefaced Prissie received a pleasant word ofgreeting, which seemed in some wonderful way to steady her nerves.Hammond and Maggie were received as special and very dear friends, andHelen Marshall, the old lady's pretty grand-daughter, rushed forward toembrace her particular friend, Constance Field.
Maggie felt sore; she scarcely knew why. Her voice was bright, her eyesshining, her cheeks radiant in their rich and lovely bloom. But therewas a quality in her voice which Hammond recognised--a certain ringwhich meant defiance, and which prophesied to those who knew her wellthat one of her bad half-hours was not very far off.
Maggie seated herself near a girl who was a comparative stranger andbegan to talk. Hammond drew near, and made a third in the conversation.Maggie talked in the brilliant, somewhat reckless fashion which sheoccasionally adopted. Hammond listened, now and then uttered a shortsentence, now and then was silent, with disapproval in his eyes.
Maggie read their expression like a book.
"He shall be angry with me," she said to herself. Her words became alittle wilder. The sentiments she uttered were the reverse of thoseHammond held.
Soon a few old friends came up. They were jolly, merry, good-humouredgirls, who were all prepared to look up to Maggie Oliphant, and toworship her beauty and cleverness if she would allow them. Maggiewelcomed the girls with effusion, let them metaphorically sit at herfeet, and proceeded to disenchant them as hard as she could.
Some garbled accounts of the auction at St Benet's had reached them,and they were anxious to get a full report from Miss Oliphant. Did shenot think it a scandalous sort of thing to have occurred?
"Not at all," answered Maggie in her sweetest tones; "it was capitalfun, I assure you."
"Were you really there?" asked Miss Duncan, the eldest of the girls."We heard it, of course, but could scarcely believe it possible."
"Of course I was there," replied Maggie. "Whenever there is anythingreally amusing going on, I am always in the thick of it."
"Well!" Emily Duncan looked at her sister Susan. Susan raised herbrows. Hammond took a photograph from a table which stood near, andpretended to examine it.
"Shall I tell you about the auction?" asked Maggie.
"Oh, please, if you would be so kind. I suppose, as you were present,such a thing could not really lower the standard of the college?" Thesewords came from Susan Duncan, who looked at Hammond as she spoke. Shewas his cousin, and very fond of him.
"Please tell us about the auction," he said, looking full at Maggie.
"I will," she replied, answering his gaze with a flash of repressedirritation. "The auction was splendid fun! One of our girls was indebt, and she had to sell her things. Oh, it was capital! I wish youcould have seen her acting as her own auctioneer. Some of us weregreedy, and wanted her best things. I was one of those. She sold asealskin jacket, an expensive one, quite new. There is a legend in thecollege that eighty guineas were expended on it. Well, I bid for thesealskin, and it was knocked down to me for ten. It is a little too bigfor me, of course, but when it is cut to my figure, it will make asuperb winter garment."
Maggie was clothed now in velvet and sable; nothing could be richer thanher attire; nothing more mocking than her words.
"You were fortunate," said Susan Duncan. "You got your sealskin a greatbargain. Didn't she, Geoffrey?"
"I don't think so," replied Hammond.
"Why not? Oh, do tell us why not," cried the sisters, eagerly.
He bowed to them, laughed as lightly as Maggie would have done, andsaid, in a careless tone: "My reasons are complex, and too many tomention. I will only say now that what is objectionable to possess cannever be a bargain to obtain. In my opinion, sealskin jackets aredetestable."
With these words he strode across the room, and seated himself with asigh of relief by Priscilla's side.
"What are you doing all by yourself?" he said, cheerfully. "Is no oneattending to you? Are you always to be left like a poor little forsakenmouse in the background?"
"I am not at all lonely," said Prissie.
"I thought you hated to be alone."
"I did, the other day, in that drawing-room; but not in this. Peopleare all kind in this."
"You are right. Our hostess is most genial and sympathetic."
"And the guests are nice, too," said Prissie; "at least, they looknice."
"Ay, but you must not be taken in by appearances. Some of them on
lylook nice."
"Do you mean?" began Prissie in her abrupt, anxious voice.
Hammond took alarm. He remembered her peculiar outspokenness.
"I don't mean anything," he said, hastily. "By the way, are you fond ofpictures?"
"I have scarcely ever seen any."
"That does not matter. I know by your face that you can appreciate somepictures."
"But, really, I know nothing of art."
"Never mind. If the painter who paints knows _you_--"
"The painter knows me? I have never seen an artist in
