The Vice-Principal's room at Heath Hall was double the size of those
occupied by the students. Miss Heath had, of course, a separate
sleeping apartment. Her delightful sitting-room, therefore, had not the
curtained-off effect which took slightly from the charm of the students'
rooms. In summer Miss Heath's room was beautiful, for the two deep
bay-windows--one facing west, the other south--looked out upon smoothly
kept lawns and flower-beds, upon tall elm trees, and also upon a distant
peep of the river, for which Kingsdene was famous, and some of the
spires and towers of the old churches. In winter, too, however--and
winter had almost come now--the Vice-Principal's room had a unique
effect, and Priscilla never forgot the first time she saw it. The young
girl stepped across the threshold of a new life on this first evening.
She would always remember it.
It was getting dark, and curtains were drawn round the cosy bays, and
the firelight blazed cheerfully.
Prissie was a little before rather than behind her time, and there was
no one in the room to greet her when she entered. She felt so
overmastered by shyness, however, that this was almost a relief, and she
sank down into one of the many comfortable chairs with a feeling of
thankfulness, and looked around her.
The next moment a servant entered with a lamp, covered with a gold silk
shade. She placed it on a table near the fire, and lit a few candles,
which stood on carved brackets round the walls. Then Prissie saw what
made her forget Miss Heath, and her shyness, and all else--a great bank
of flowers, which stretched across one complete angle of the room.
There were some roses, some chrysanthemums, some geraniums. They were
cunningly arranged in pots, but had the effect at a little distance of a
gay, tropical garden. Prissie rushed to them, knelt down by a tall,
white, Japanese chrysanthemum, and buried her face in its long, wavy
petals.
Prissie had never seen such flowers, and she loved all flowers. Her
heart swelled with a kind of wonder; and when, the next moment, she felt
a light and very soft kiss on her forehead she was scarcely surprised.
"My dear child," said Miss Heath, "I am so sorry I was not in the room
when you came in; but, never mind, my flowers gave you welcome."
"Yes," said Prissie, standing up pale, and with a luminous light in her
eyes.
"You love flowers?" said Miss Heath, giving her a keen glance.
"Oh, yes; but I did not know--I could not guess--that any flower could
be as beautiful as this," and she touched the great white chrysanthemum
with her finger.
"Yes, and there are some flowers even more wonderful. Have you ever
seen orchids?"
"No."
"Then you have something to live for. Orchids are ordinary flowers
spiritualised. They have a glamour over them. We have good orchid
shows sometimes at Kingsdene. I will take you to the next."
The servant brought in tea, and Miss Heath placed Prissie in a
comfortable chair, where she was neither oppressed by lamplight nor
firelight.
"A shy little soul like this will love the shade," she said to herself.
"For all her plainness this is no ordinary girl, and I mean to draw her
out presently. What a brow she has, and what a light came into her eyes
when she looked at my white chrysanthemum."
There came a tap at the door, and Maggie Oliphant entered, looking fresh
and bright. She gave Prissie an affectionate glance and nod, and then
began to busy herself, helping Miss Heath with the tea. During the meal
a little pleasant murmur of conversation was kept up. Miss Heath and
Maggie exchanged ideas. They even entered upon one or two delicate
little skirmishes, each cleverly arguing a slight point on which they
appeared to differ. Maggie could make smart repartees, and Miss Heath
could parry her graceful young adversary's home-thrusts with excellent
effect.
They talked of one or two books which were then under discussion; they
said a little about music, and a word or two with regard to the pictures
which were just then causing talk among the art critics in London. It
was all new to Prissie, this "light, airy, nothing" kind of talk. It
was not study; could it be classed under the head of recreation?
Prissie was accustomed to classify everything, but she did not know
under what head to put this pleasant conversation. She was bewildered,
puzzled. She listened without losing a word. She forgot herself
absolutely.
Miss Heath, however, who knew Maggie Oliphant, but did not know Prissie,
was observant of the silent young stranger through all the delights of
her pleasant talk. Almost imperceptibly she got Prissie to say a word
or two. She paused when she saw a question in Prissie's eyes, and her
timid and gentle words were listened to with deference. By slow degrees
Maggie was the silent one, and Priscilla and Miss Heath held the field
between them.
"No, I have never been properly educated," Prissie was saying. "I have
never gone to a high school. I don't do things in the regular fashion.
I was so afraid I should not be able to pass the entrance examination
for St Benet's. I was delighted when I found that I had done so."
"You passed the examination creditably," said Miss Heath. "I have
looked through your papers. Your answers were not stereotyped. They
were much better; they were thoughtful. Whoever has educated you, you
have been well taught. You can think."
"Oh, yes, my dear friend, Mr Hayes, always said that was the first
thing."
"Ah, that accounts for it," replied Miss Heath. "You have had the
advantage of listening to a cultivated man's conversation. You ought to
do very well here. What do you mean to take up?"
"Oh, everything. I can't know too much."
Miss Heath laughed, and looked at Maggie. Maggie was lying back in her
easy-chair, her head resting luxuriously against a dark velvet cushion.
She was tapping the floor slightly with her small foot; her eyes were
fixed on Prissie. When Miss Heath laughed, Maggie echoed the sound, but
both laughs were in the sweetest sympathy.
"You must not overwork yourself, my dear," said Miss Heath. "That would
be a very false beginning. I think--I am sure--that you have an earnest
and ardent nature, but you must avoid an extreme which will only end in
disaster."
Prissie frowned.
"What do you mean?" she said. "I have come here to study. It has been
done with such, such difficulty. It would be cruel to waste a moment.
I mustn't; it wouldn't be right. You can't mean what you say."
Miss Heath was silent. She thought it kinder to look away from Prissie.
After a moment she said, in a voice which she on purpose made intensely
quiet and matter-of-fact--
"Many girls come to St Benet's, Miss Peel, who are, I fancy,
circumstanced like you. Their friends find it difficult to send them
here, but they make the sacrifice, sometimes in one way, sometimes in
another--and the girls come. They know it is their duty to study; they
have an ulterior motive, which underlies everything else. They know
by-and-by they must pay back."
"Oh, yes," said Priscilla, starting forward, and a flush coming into her
face. "I know that--that is what it is for. To pay back worthily--to
give back a thousandfold what you have received. Those girls can't be
idle, can they?" she added in a gentle, piteous sort of way.
"My dear, there have been several such girls at St Benet's, and none of
them has been idle; they have been best and first among our students.
Many of them have done more than well--many of them have brought fame to
St Benet's. They are in the world now, and earning honourable
livelihoods as teachers, or in other departments where cultivated women
can alone take the field. These girls are all paying back a
thousandfold those who have helped them."
"Yes," said Prissie.
"You would like to follow their example?"
"Oh, yes; please tell me about them."
"Some of them were like you, and thought they would take up everything--
everything I mean in the scholastic line. They filled their days with
lectures, and studied into the short hours of the night. Maggie, dear,
please tell Miss Peel about Good-night and Good-morning."
"They were such a funny pair," said Maggie. "They had rooms next to
each other in our corridor, Miss Peel. They were both studying for a
tripos, and during the term before the examination one went to bed at
four, and one got up at four. Mary Joliffe used to go into Susan
Martin's room and say good-morning to her. Susan used to raise such a
white face and say, `Good-night, my dear.' Well, poor things, neither
of them got a tripos; they worked too hard."
"The simple English of all this," said Miss Heath, "is that the
successful girl here is the girl who takes advantage of the whole life
mapped out for her, who divides her time between play and work, who
joins the clubs, and enters heartily into the social life of the place.
Yes," she added, looking suddenly full at Priscilla, "these last words
of mine may seem strange to you, dear. Believe me, however, they are
true. But I know," she added with a sigh, "that it takes rather an old
person to believe in the education of _play_."
Priscilla looked unconvinced.
"I must do what you wish," she said, "for, of course, you ought to
know."
"What a lame kind of assent, my love! Maggie, you will have to gently
lure this young person into the paths of frivolity. I promise you, my
dear, that you shall be a very cultivated woman some day; but I only
promise this if you will take advantage of all sides of the pleasant
life here. Now tell me what are your particular tastes? What branch of
study do you like best?"
"I love Latin and Greek better than anything else in the world."
"Do you truly?" said Maggie, suddenly starting forward. "Then in one
thing we have a great sympathy. What have you read? Do tell me."
Miss Heath stepped discreetly into the background. The two girls
conversed for a long time together.