Yes, she has been quite changed since then. She always had moods, as she called them, but not like now. Sometimes I think she is almost flighty."

Rosalind was silent. After a while she said in a prim little voice, which she adopted now and then when she wanted to conceal her real feelings:

"But I do wonder what the quarrel was about-- I mean, what really happened between Annabel and Maggie."

"Look here, Rosalind, have I said anything about a quarrel? Please remember that the whole thing is conjecture from beginning to end, and don't go all over the place spreading stories and making mischief. I have told you this in confidence, so don't forget."

"I won't forget," replied Rosalind. "I don't know why you should accuse me of wanting to make mischief, Annie. I can't help being curious, of course, and, of course, I'd like to know more."

"Well, for that matter, so would I," replied Annie. "Where there is a mystery it's much more satisfactory to get to the bottom of it. Of course, something dreadful must have happened to account for the change in Miss Oliphant. It would be a comfort to know the truth, and, of course, one need never talk of it. By the way, Rosie, you are just the person to ferret this little secret out; you are the right sort of person for spying and peeping."

"Oh, thank you," replied Rosalind; "if that's your opinion of me I'm not inclined to do anything to please you. Spying and peeping, indeed!

What next?"

Annie Day patted her companion's small white hand.

"And so I've hurt the dear little baby's feelings!" she said. "But I didn't mean to-- no, that I didn't. And she such a pretty, sweet little pet as she is! Well, Rosie, you know what I mean. If we can find out the truth about Miss Maggie we'll just have a quiet little crow over her all to ourselves. I don't suppose we shall find out, but the opportunities may arise-- who knows? Now I want to speak to you about another person, and that is Maggie's new friend."

"What new friend?" Rosalind blushed brightly.

"That ugly Priscilla Peel. She has taken her up. Any one can see that."

"Oh, I don't think so."

"But I do-- I am sure of it. Now I have good reason not to like Miss Priscilla. You know what a virtuous parade she made of herself a few nights ago?"

"Yes, you told me."

"Horrid, set-up minx! Just the sort of girl who ought to be suppressed and crushed out of a college like ours. Vaunting her poverty in our very faces and refusing to make herself pleasant or one with us in any sort of way. Lucy Marsh and I had a long talk over her that night, and we put our heads together to concoct a nice little bit of punishment for her. You know she's horridly shy, and as gauche as if she lived in the backwoods, and we meant to 'send her to Coventry.' We had it all arranged, and a whole lot of girls would have joined us, for it's contrary to the spirit of a place like this to allow girls of the Priscilla Peel type to become popular or liked in any way. But, most unluckily, poor, dear, good, but stupid, Nancy Banister was in the room when Prissie made her little oration, and Nancy took her up as if she were a heroine and spoke of her as if she had done something magnificent, and, of course, Nancy told Maggie, and now Maggie is as thick as possible with Prissie. So you see, my dear Rosalind, our virtuous little scheme is completely knocked on the head."

"I don't see--" began Rosalind.

"You little goose, before a week is out Prissie will be the fashion.

All the girls will flock around her when Maggie takes her part. Bare, ugly rooms will be the rage; poverty will be the height of the fashion, and it will be considered wrong even to go in for the recognized college recreations. Rosie, my love, we must nip this growing mischief in the bud."

"How?" asked Rosalind.

"We must separate Maggie Oliphant and Priscilla Peel."

"How?" asked Rose again. "I'm sure," she added in a vehement voice, "I'm willing-- I'm more than willing."

"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 XII

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 every one 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 color.

Prissie, standing miserable and forgotten by the tall, handsome girl's side, could see the light in her eyes and the glow on her cheeks 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 vigor.

"I know you would not, Priscilla; may I call you Priscilla?"

"Yes."

"Will you be my friend and shall I be your friend?"