"Ten guineas."

"Was that, in your opinion, a fair price for the jacket?"

"The jacket was worth a great deal more. The price I paid for it was much below its value."

Miss Eccleston made some further notes in her book. Then she looked up.

"Have you anything more to say, Miss Oliphant?"

"I could say more. I could make you think even worse of me than you now think, but as any further disclosures of mine would bring another girl into trouble I would rather not speak."

"You are certainly not forced to speak. I am obliged to you for the candor with which you have treated me."

Miss Eccleston then turned to Miss Heath and said a few words to her in a low voice. Her words were not heard by the anxiously listening girls, but they seemed to displease Miss Heath, who shook her head; but Miss Eccleston held very firmly to her own opinion. After a pause of a few minutes, Miss Heath came forward and addressed the young girls who were a.s.sembled before her.

"The leading spirit of this college," she said, "is almost perfect immunity from the bondage of rules. The princ.i.p.als of these halls have fully trusted the students who reside in them and relied on their honor, their rect.i.tude, their sense of sound principle. Hitherto we have had no reason to complain that the spirit of absolute trust which we have shown has been abused; but the circ.u.mstance which has just occurred has given Miss Eccleston and myself some pain."

"It has surprised us; it has given us a blow," interrupted Miss Eccleston.

"And Miss Eccleston feels," proceeded Miss Heath, "and perhaps she is right, that the matter ought to be laid before the college authorities, who will decide what are the best steps to be taken."

"You do not agree with that view, do you, Miss Heath?" asked Maggie Oliphant suddenly.

"At first I did not. I leaned to the side of mercy. I thought you might all have learned a lesson in the distress which you have caused us, and that such an occurrence could not happen again."

"Won't Miss Eccleston adopt your views?" questioned Maggie. She glanced round at her fellow-students as she spoke.

"No-- no," interrupted Miss Eccleston. "I cannot accept the responsibility. The college authorities must decide the matter."

"Remember," said Maggie, stepping forward a pace or two, "that we are no children. If we were at school you ought to punish us, and, of course, you would. I hate what I have done, and I own it frankly. But you cannot forget, Miss Eccleston, that no girl here has broken a rule when she attended the auction and bought Miss Singleton's things; and that even Miss Singleton has broken no rule when she went in debt."

There was a buzz of applause and even a cheer from the girls in the background. Miss Eccleston looked angry, but perplexed. Miss Heath again turned and spoke to her. She replied in a low tone. Miss Heath said something further. At last Miss Eccleston sat down and Miss Heath came forward and addressed Maggie Oliphant.

"Your words have been scarcely respectful, Miss Oliphant," she said, "but there is a certain justice in them which my friend, Miss Eccleston, is the first to admit. She has consented, therefore, to defer her final decision for twenty-four hours; at the end of that time the students of Katharine Hall and Heath Hall will know what we finally decide to do."

After the meeting in Miss Eccleston's drawing-room the affair of the auction a.s.sumed enormous proportions. There was no other topic of conversation. The students took sides vigorously in the matter: the gay, giddy and careless ones voting the auction a rare bit of fun and upholding those who had taken part in it with all their might and main. The more sober and high-minded girls, on the other hand, took Miss Heath's and Miss Eccleston's views of the matter. The principles of the college had been disregarded, the spirit of order had been broken; debt, which was disgraceful, was made light of. These girls felt that the tone of St. Benet's was lowered. Even Maggie Oliphant sank in their estimation. A few went to the length of saying that they could no longer include her in their set.

Katharine Hall, the scene of the auction itself, was, of course, now the place of special interest. Heath Hall was also implicated in it, but Seymour Hall, which stood a little apart from its sister halls, had sent no student to the scene of dissipation. Seymour Hall was the smallest of the three. It was completely isolated from the others, standing in its own lovely grounds on the other side of the road. It now held its head high, and the girls who belonged to the other halls, but had taken no part in the auction, felt that their own beloved halls were lowered, and their resentment was all the keener because the Seymour Hall girls gave themselves airs.

"I shall never live through it," said Ida Mason, a Heath Hall girl to her favorite chum, Constance Field. "Nothing can ever be the same again. If my mother knew, Constance, I feel almost sure she would remove me. The whole thing is so small and shabby and horrid, and then to think of Maggie taking part in it! Aren't you awfully shocked, Constance? What is your true opinion?"

"My true opinion," said Constance, "is this: it is our duty to uphold our own hall and our own chums. As to the best of us, if we are the best, going away because a thing of this sort has occurred, it is not to be thought of for a moment. Why, Ida," Constance laughed as she spoke, "you might as well expect one of the leading officers to desert his regiment when going into battle. You know what Maggie Oliphant is, Ida. As to deserting her because she has had one of her bad half hours, which she frankly confessed to, like the brave girl she is, I would as soon cut off my right hand. Now, Ida, my dear, don't be a little goose. Your part, instead of grumbling and growling and hinting at the place not being fit for you, is to go round to every friend you have in Heath Hall and get them to rally round Maggie and Miss Heath."

"There's that poor Miss Peel, too," said Ida, "Maggie's new friend-- that queer, plain girl; she's sure to be frightfully bullied. I suppose I'd better stick up for her as well?"

"Of course, dear, you certainly ought. But as to Miss Peel being plain, Ida, I don't think I quite agree with you. Her face is too clever for that. Have you watched her when she acts?"

"No, I don't think I have. She seems to be very uninteresting."

"Look at her next time, and tell me if you think her uninteresting afterward. Now I'm off to find Maggie. She is sure to be having one of her bad times, poor darling."

Constance Field was a girl whose opinion was always received with respect. Ida went off obediently to fulfil her behests; and Constance, after searching in Maggie's room and wandering in different parts of the grounds, found the truant at last, comfortably established with a pile of new books and magazines in the library. The library was the most comfortable room in the house, and Maggie was leaning back luxuriously in an easy-chair, reading some notes from a lecture on Aristotle aloud to Prissie, who sat at her feet and took down notes of her own from Maggie's lips.

The two looked up anything but gratefully when Constance approached.

Miss Field, however, was not a person to be dismissed with a light and airy word, and Maggie sighed and closed her book when Constance sat down in an armchair, which she pulled close to her. There were no other girls in the library, and Prissie, seeing that Miss Field intended to be confidential, looked at Maggie with a disconsolate air.

"Perhaps I had better go up to my own room," she said timidly.

Maggie raised her brows and spoke in an impatient voice.

"You are in no one's way, Priscilla," she said. "Here are my notes from the lecture. I read to the end of this page; you can make out the rest for yourself. Well, Constance, have you anything to say?"

"Not unless you want to hear me," said Miss Field in her dignified manner.

Maggie tried to stifle a yawn.

"Oh, my dear Connie, I'm always charmed, you know that."

"Well, I thought I'd like to tell you that I admired the way you spoke last night."

"Were you present?"

"No, but some friends of mine were. They repeated the whole thing verbatim."

"Oh, you heard it second-hand. Highly colored, no doubt, and not the least like its poor original."

Maggie spoke with a kind of bitter, defiant sarcasm, and a delicate color came into Miss Field's cheeks.

"At least, I heard enough to a.s.sure me that you spoke the truth and concealed nothing," she said.

"It is the case that I spoke the truth, as far as it went; but it is not the case that I concealed nothing."

"Well, Maggie, I have come to offer you my sincere sympathy."

"Thank you," said Maggie. She leaned back in her chair, folded her hands and a tired look came over her expressive face. "The fact is,"

she said suddenly, "I am sick of the whole thing. I am sorry I went; I made a public confession of my sorrow last night; now I wish to forget it."

"How can you possibly forget it until you know Miss Heath's and Miss Eccleston's decision?"

"Frankly, Constance, I don't care what decision they come to."

"You don't care? You don't mind the college authorities knowing?"

"I don't care if every college authority in England knows. I have been humbled in the eyes of Miss Heath, whom I love; nothing else matters."

When Maggie said these words Prissie rose to her feet, looked at her with a queer, earnest glance, suddenly bent forward, kissed her frantically and rushed out of the room.

"And I love that dear, true-hearted child, too," said Maggie. "Now, Constance, do let us talk of something else."