He began to move about the drawing-rooms, and Prissie from her hiding-place watched him with a world of grat.i.tude 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 every one 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 a.s.sure 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 sc.r.a.pe."

"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 pa.s.sion, 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 cheeks 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 pa.s.s 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-by," 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 XV

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 a.s.sembled 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 j.a.panese effect. Several paper lanterns hung from the ceiling and were suspended to wire supports, which were fastened to different articles of furniture.

In honor of Miss Day's cocoa, the lanterns were all lit now, and the effect, on fans and pictures and on brilliant bits of color, were 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 ease. 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 pennypiece to bless myself with, and this letter came from Spilman to-night. Spilman says he'll see Miss Eccleston if I didn'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 sympathizing 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 around 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."