College life is school life over again, but with wide differences. The
restraints which characterise the existence of a school-girl are
scarcely felt at all by the girl graduate. There are no punishments.
Up to a certain point she is free to be industrious or not as she
pleases. Some rules there are for her conduct and guidance, but they
are neither many nor arbitrary. In short, the young girl graduate is no
longer thought of as a child. She is a woman, with a woman's
responsibilities; she is treated accordingly.
Miss Day, Miss Marsh, Miss Merton, and one or two other congenial
spirits, entered heartily into the little plot which should deprive
Priscilla of Maggie Oliphant's friendship. They were anxious to succeed
in this, because their characters were low, their natures jealous and
mean. Prissie had set up a higher standard than theirs, and they were
determined to crush the little aspirant for moral courage. If in
crushing Prissie they could also bring discredit upon Miss Oliphant,
their sense of victory would have been intensified; but it was one thing
for these conspirators to plot and plan, and another thing for them to
perform. It is possible that in school life they might have found this
easier; opportunities might have arisen for them, with mistresses to be
obeyed, punishments to be dreaded, rewards to be won. At St Benet's
there was no one especially to be obeyed, and neither rewards nor
punishments entered into the lives of the girls.
Maggie Oliphant did not care in the least what girls like Miss Day or
Miss Marsh said or thought about her, and Priscilla, who was very happy
and industrious just now, heard many innuendoes and sly little speeches
without taking in their meaning.
Still, the conspirators did not despair. The term before Christmas was
in some ways rather a dull one, and they were glad of any excitement to
break the monotony. As difficulties increased their ardour also
deepened, and they were resolved not to leave a stone unturned to effect
their object. Where there is a will there is a way. This is true as
regards evil and good things alike.
One foggy morning, towards the end of November, Priscilla was standing
by the door of one of the lecture-rooms, a book of French history, a
French grammar and exercise-book, and a thick note-book in her hand.
She was going to her French lecture, and was standing patiently by the
lecture-room door, which had not yet been opened.
Priscilla's strongest bias was for Greek and Latin, but Mr Hayes had
recommended her to take up modern languages as well, and she was
steadily plodding through the French and German, for which she had not
so strong a liking as for her beloved classics. Prissie was a very
eager learner, and she was busy now looking over her notes of the last
lecture, and standing close to the door, so as to be one of the first to
take her place in the lecture-room.
The rustling of a dress caused her to look round, and Rosalind Merton
stood by her side. Rosalind was by no means one of the "students" of
the college. She attended as few lectures as were compatible with her
remaining there, but French happened to be one of the subjects which she
thought it well to take up, and she appeared now by Prissie's side with
the invariable note-book, without which no girl went to lecture, in her
hand.
"Isn't it cold?" she said, shivering, and raising her pretty face to
Priscilla's.
Prissie glanced at her for a moment, said Yes; she supposed it was cold,
in an abstracted voice, and bent her head once more over her note-book.
Rosalind was looking very pretty in a dress of dark blue velveteen. Her
golden curly hair lay in little tendrils all over her head, and curled
lovingly against her soft white throat.
"I hate Kingsdene in a fog," she continued, "and I think it's very wrong
to keep us in this draughty passage until the lecture-room is opened.
Don't you, Miss Peel?"
"Well, we are before our time, so no one is to blame for that," answered
Priscilla.
"Of course, so we are." Rosalind pulled out a small gold watch, which
she wore at her girdle.
"How stupid of me to have mistaken the hour!" she exclaimed. Then
looking hard at Prissie, she continued in an anxious tone--
"You are not going to attend any lectures this afternoon, are you, Miss
Peel?"
"No," answered Priscilla. "Why?"
Rosalind's blue eyes looked almost pathetic in their pleading.
"I wonder,"--she began; "I'm so worried, I _wonder_ if you'd do me a
kindness."
"I can't say until you ask me," said Priscilla; "what do you want me to
do?"
"There's a girl at Kingsdene, a Miss Forbes. She makes my dresses now
and then; I had a letter from her last night, and she is going to London
in a hurry, because her mother is ill. She made this dress for me;
isn't it pretty?"
"Yes," answered Priscilla, just glancing at it. "But what connection
has that with my doing anything for you?"
"Oh, a great deal; I'm coming to that part. Miss Forbes wants me to pay
her for making this dress before she goes to London. I can only do this
by going to Kingsdene this afternoon."
"Well?" said Priscilla.
"I want to know if you will come with me. Miss Heath does not like our
going to the town alone, particularly at this time of year, when the
evenings are so short. Will you come with me, Miss Peel? It will be
awfully good-natured of you, and I really do want poor Miss Forbes to
have her money before she goes to London."
"But cannot some of your own friends go with you?" returned Priscilla.
"I don't wish to refuse, of course, if it is necessary; but I want to
work up my Greek notes this afternoon. The next lecture is a very stiff
one, and I sha'n't be ready for it without some hard work."
"Oh, but you can study when you come back. _Do_ come with me. I would
not ask you, only I know you are so good-natured, and Annie Day and Lucy
Marsh have both to attend lectures this afternoon. I have no one to
ask--no one, really, if you refuse. I have not half so many friends as
you think, and it would be quite too dreadful for poor Miss Forbes not
to have her money when she wants to spend it on her sick mother."
Priscilla hesitated for a moment. Two or three other girls were walking
down the corridor to the lecture-room; the door was flung open.
"Very well," she said, as she entered the room, followed by Rosalind, "I
will go with you. At what hour do you want to start?"
"At three o'clock. I'm awfully grateful. A thousand thanks, Miss
Peel."
Prissie nodded, seated herself at the lecture-table, and in the interest
of the work which lay before her soon forgot all about Rosalind and her
troubles.
The afternoon of that day turned out not only foggy, but wet. A
drizzling rain shrouded the landscape, and very few girls from St
Benet's were venturing abroad.
At half-past two Nancy Banister came hastily into Priscilla's room.
"Maggie and I are going down to the library," she said, "to have a cosy
read by the fire; we want you to come with us. Why, surely you are
never going out, Miss Peel?"
"Yes, I am," answered Prissie, in a resigned voice. "I don't like it a
bit, but Miss Merton has asked me to go with her to Kingsdene, and I
promised."
"Well, you sha'n't keep your promise. This is not a fit day for you to
go out, and you have a cough, too. I heard you coughing last night."
"Yes, but that is nothing. I must go, Miss Banister; I must keep my
word. I daresay it won't take Miss Merton and me very long to walk into
Kingsdene and back again."
"And I never knew that Rosalind Merton was one of your friends,
Prissie," continued Nancy, in a puzzled voice.
"Nor is she--I scarcely know her; but when she asked me to go out with
her, I could not very well say no."
"I suppose not; but I am sorry, all the same, for it is not a fit day
for anyone to be abroad, and Rosalind is such a giddy pate. Well, come
back as soon as you can. Maggie and I are going to have a jolly time,
and we only wish you were with us."
Nancy nodded brightly, and took her leave, and Priscilla, putting on her
waterproof and her shabbiest hat, went down into the hall to meet
Rosalind.
Rosalind was also in waterproof, but her hat was extremely pretty and
becoming, and Priscilla fancied she got a glimpse of a gay silk dress
under the waterproof cloak.
"Oh, how quite too sweet of you to be ready!" said Rosalind, with
effusion. She took Prissie's hand and squeezed it affectionately, and
the two girls set off.
The walk was a dreary one, for Kingsdene, one of the most beautiful
places in England in fine weather, lies so low, that in the winter
months fogs are frequent, and the rain is almost incessant, so that then
the atmosphere is always damp and chilly. By the time the two girls had
got into the High Street, Prissie's thick, sensible boots were covered
with mud, and Rosalind's thin ones felt very damp to her feet.
They soon reached the quarter where the dressmaker, Miss Forbes, lived.
Prissie was asked to wait downstairs, and Rosalind ran up several
flights of stairs to fulfil her mission. She came back at the end of a
few minutes, looking bright and radiant.
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Peel," she said, "but my
boots were so muddy that Miss Forbes insisted on polishing them up for
me."
"Well, we can go home now, I suppose?" said Prissie.
"Ye-es; only as we _are_ here, would you greatly mind our going round by
Bouverie Street? I want to inquire for a friend of mine, Mrs
Elliot-Smith. She has not been well."
"Oh, I don't mind," said Priscilla. "Will it take us much out of our
way?"
"No, only a step or two. Come, we have just to turn this corner, and
here we are. What a dear--quite too good-natured girl you are, Miss
Peel!" Prissie said nothing. The two started forth again in the
drizzling mist and fog, and presently found themselves in one of the
most fashionable streets of Kingsdene, and standing before a ponderous
hall-door, which stood back in a portico.
Rosalind rang the bell, which made a loud peal. The door was opened
almost immediately; but, instead of a servant appearing in answer to the
summons, a showily dressed girl, with a tousled head of flaxen hair,
light blue eyes, and a pale face, stood before Rosalind and Prissie.
"Oh, you dear Rose!" she said, clasping her arms round Miss Merton, and
dragging her into the house: "I had almost given you up. Do come in--do
come in, both of you. You are more than welcome. What a miserable,
horrid, too utterly depressing afternoon it is!"
"How do you do, Meta?" said Rosalind, when she could interrupt this
eager flow of words. "May I introduce my friend, Miss Peel? Miss Peel,
this is my very great and special friend and chum, Meta Elliot-Smith."
"Oh, you charming darling!" said Meta, giving Rose a fresh hug, and
glancing in a supercilious but friendly way at Prissie.
"We came to inquire for your mother, dear Meta," said Rose, in a demure
tone. "Is she any better?"
"Yes, my dear darling, she's much better." Meta's eyes flashed
interrogation into Rose's: Rose's returned back glances, which spoke
whole volumes of meaning.
"Look here," said Meta Elliot-Smith, "now that you two dear, precious
girls have come, you mustn't go away. Oh, no, I couldn't hear of it. I
have perfect oceans to say to you, Rose--and it is absolutely centuries
since we have met. Off with your waterproof, and up you come to the
drawing-room for a cup of tea. One or two friends are dropping in
presently, and the Beechers and one or two more are upstairs now. You
know the Beechers, don't you, Rosalind? Here, Miss Peel, let me help
you to unburden yourself. Little Rose is so nimble in her ways that she
doesn't need any assistance."
"Oh, but indeed I can't stay," said Prissie. "It is quite impossible!
You know, Miss Merton, it is impossible. We are due at St Benet's now.
We ought to be going back at once."
Rosalind Merton's only answer was to slip off her waterproof cloak, and
stand arrayed in a fascinating toilet of silk and lace--a little too
dressy, perhaps, even for an afternoon party at Kingsdene, but vastly
becoming to its small wearer.
Priscilla opened her eyes wide as she gazed at her companion. She saw
at once that she had been entrapped into her present false position, and
that Rosalind's real object in coming to Kingsdene was not to pay her
dressmaker, but to visit the Elliot-Smiths.
"I can't possibly stay," she said in a cold, angry voice. "I must go
back to St Benet's at once."
She began to button up her waterproof as fast as Miss Elliot-Smith was
unbuttoning it.
"Nonsense, you silly old dear!" said Rosalind, who, having gained her
way, was now in the best of spirits. "You mustn't listen to her, Meta;
she studies a great deal too hard, and a little relaxation will do her
all the good in the world. My dear Miss Peel, you can't be so rude as
to refuse a cup of tea, and I know I shall catch an awful cold if I
don't have one. Do come upstairs for half an hour; _do_, there's a dear
Prissie!"
Priscilla hesitated. She had no knowledge of so-called "society." Her
instincts told her it was very wrong to humour Rose. She disliked Miss
Elliot-Smith, and felt wild at the trick which had been played on her.
Nevertheless, on an occasion of this kind, she was no match for Rose,
who knew perfectly what she was about, and stood smiling and pretty
before her.
"Just for a few moments," said Rosalind, coming up and whispering to
her. "I really won't keep you long. You _will_ just oblige me for a
few minutes."
"Well, but I'm not fit to be seen in this old dress?" whispered back
poor Prissie.
"Oh, yes, you are; you're not bad at all, and I am sure Meta will find
you a secluded corner if you want it--won't you, Meta?"
"Yes, of course, if Miss Peel wants it," answered Meta. "But she looks
all right, so deliciously quaint--I simply _adore_ quaint people! Quite
the sweet girl graduate, I do declare. You don't at all answer to the
_role_, you naughty Rosalind?"
So Prissie, in her ill-made brown dress, her shabbiest hat, and her
muddy boots, had to follow in the wake of Rosalind Merton and her
friend. At first she had been too angry to think much about her attire,
but she was painfully conscious of it when she entered a crowded
drawing-room, where everyone else was in suitable afternoon toilet. She
was glad to shrink away out of sight into the most remote corner she
could find; her muddy boots were pushed far in under her chair, and
hidden as much as possible by her rather short dress; her checks burnt
unbecomingly; she felt miserable, self-conscious, ill at ease, and very
cross with everyone. It was in vain for poor Priscilla to whisper to
herself that Greek and Latin were glorious and great, and dress and
fashion were things of no moment whatever. At this instant she knew all
too well that dress and fashion were reigning supreme.
Meta Elliot-Smith was effusive, loud, and vulgar, but she was also
good-natured. She admired Rosalind, but in her heart of hearts she
thought that her friend had played Prissie a very shabby trick. She
brought Prissie some tea, therefore, and stood for a moment or two by
her side, trying to make things a little more comfortable for her.
Someone soon claimed her attention, however, and poor Prissie found
herself alone.