Monday arrived. It wanted now less than three weeks to the end of the
term. A good many girls were talking about home and Christmas, and
already the hard-worked, the studious, the industrious were owning to
the first symptoms of that pleasant fatigue which would entitle them to
the full enjoyment of their merited holiday.
Priscilla was now a happy girl. She had found her niche in the college;
her work was delightful. Under Maggie's advice she became a member of
the Debating Society, and rather reluctantly allowed her name to be
entered in the Dramatic Club. She felt very shy about this, but that
was because she did not know her own power. To her astonishment,
Priscilla found that she could act. If the part suited her she could
throw herself into it so that she ceased to be awkward, ungainly
Priscilla Peel. Out of herself she was no longer awkward, no longer
ungainly. She could only personate certain characters; light and airy
parts she could not attempt, but where much depended on passion and
emotion Priscilla could do splendidly. Every day her friends found
fresh points of interest in this queer girl. Nancy Banister was really
attached to her, Maggie was most faithful in her declared friendship,
and Miss Heath took more notice of Priscilla than of any other girl in
the Hall. The different lecturers spoke highly of Miss Peel's
comprehension, knowledge, and ability. In short, things were going well
with her, and she owned to her own heart that she had never felt happier
in her life.
Prissie, too, was looking forward to the Christmas holidays. She was to
return home then, and her letters to her three little sisters, to Aunt
Raby, and to Mr Hayes were full of the delights of her college life.
No one could have been more angry than poor Prissie during that
miserable time at the Elliot-Smiths'. Many complaints did she resolve
to make, and dire was the vengeance which she hoped would fall on Rose's
devoted head. But, during her talk with Mr Hammond, some of her anger
had cooled down. He had touched on great subjects, and Prissie's soul
had responded like a musical instrument to the light and skilled finger
of the musician. All her intellectual powers were aroused to their
utmost, keenest life during this brief little talk. She found that
Hammond could say better and more comprehensive things than even her
dear old tutor, Mr Hayes. Hammond was abreast of the present-day
aspect of those things in which Prissie delighted. Her short talk with
him made up for all the tedium of the rest of that wretched afternoon.
On her walk home Priscilla made up her mind to have nothing further to
say to Rose, but also not to make a complaint about her. She would pass
the matter over in silence. If questioned, she would tell her own
friends where she had been; if not questioned, she would volunteer no
information.
Maggie and Nancy did ask her casually what had kept her out so long.
"I was at the Elliot-Smiths' with Miss Merton," replied Priscilla.
They both started when she said this, and looked at her hard. They were
too well-bred, however, to give utterance to the many comments which
crowded to their lips. Prissie read their thoughts like a book.
"I did not like it at all," she said; "but I'd rather say nothing about
it, please. After Mr Hammond came I was happy."
"Mr Hammond was there?" said Nancy, in an eager voice. "Geoffrey
Hammond was at the Elliot-Smiths'? Impossible!"
"He was there," repeated Prissie. She glanced nervously at Maggie, who
had taken up a book, and was pretending to read. "He came, and he spoke
to me. He was very, very kind, and he made me so happy."
"Dear Prissie," said Maggie, suddenly. She got up, went over to the
young girl, tapped her affectionately on the shoulder, and left the
room.
Prissie sat, looking thoughtfully before her. After a time she bade
Nancy Banister "Good-night," and went off to her own room to study the
notes she had taken that morning at the French lecture.
The next few days passed without anything special occurring. If a
little rumour were already beginning to swell in the air, it scarcely
reached the ears of those principally concerned. Maggie Oliphant
continued to make a special favourite of Miss Peel. She sat near her at
breakfast, and at the meetings of the Dramatic Society was particularly
anxious to secure a good part for Prissie. The members of the society
intended to act _The Princess_ before the end of the term, and as there
was a great deal to work up, and many rehearsals were necessary, they
met in the little theatre on most evenings.
Maggie Oliphant had been unanimously selected to take the part of the
Princess. She electrified everyone by drawing Miss Peel towards her,
and saying in an emphatic voice--
"You must be the Prince, Priscilla."
A look of dismay crept over several faces. One or two made different
proposals.
"Would not Nancy Banister take the part better, Maggie?" said Miss
Claydon, a tall, graceful girl, who was to be Psyche.
"No; Nancy is to be Cyril. She sings well, and can do the part
admirably. Miss Peel must be the Prince: I will have no other lover.
What do you say, Miss Peel?"
"I cannot; it is impossible," almost whispered Prissie.
"`Cannot' is a word which must not be listened to in our Dramatic
Society," responded Maggie. "I promise to turn you out a most
accomplished Prince, my friend; no one shall be disappointed in you.
Girls, do you leave this matter in my hands? Do you leave the Prince to
me?"
"We cannot refuse you the privilege of choosing your own Prince,
Princess," said Miss Claydon, with a graceful curtsy.
The others assented, but unwillingly. Miss Oliphant was known to be
more full of whims than anyone else in the college. Her extraordinary
and sudden friendship for Prissie was regarded as her latest caprice.
Rosalind Merton was not a particularly good actress, but her face was
too pretty not to be called into requisition. She was to take the part
of Melissa.
The society had a grand meeting on the day of Polly Singleton's auction.
Matters were still very much in a state of chaos, but the rehearsal of
some of the parts was got through with credit under the directions of
the clever stage-manager, one of the nicest and best girls in the
college, Constance Field. She had a knack of putting each girl at her
ease--of discovering the faintest sparks of genius, and fanning them
into flame.
Priscilla had learned her speeches accurately: her turn came; she stood
up trembling and began. Gradually the stony (or was it yearning?) look
in Maggie's face moved her. She fancied herself Hammond, not the
Prince. When she spoke to Maggie she felt no longer like a feeble
school-girl acting a part. She thought she was pleading for Hammond,
and enthusiasm got into her voice, and a light filled her eyes. There
was a little cheer when Priscilla got through her first rehearsal.
Nancy Banister came up to Rosalind.
"I do believe Maggie is right," she said, "and that Miss Peel will take
the part capitally."
"Miss Oliphant is well-known for her magnanimity," retorted Rosalind, an
ugly look spoiling the expression of her face.
"Her magnanimity? What do you mean, Rose?"
"To choose _that_ girl for her Prince!" retorted Rosalind. "Ask Mr
Hammond what I mean. Ask the Elliot-Smiths."
"I don't know the Elliot-Smiths," said Nancy, in a cold voice. She
turned away; she felt displeased and annoyed.
Rose glanced after her; then she ran up to Maggie Oliphant, who was
preparing to leave the little theatre.
"Don't you want to see the auction?" she said, in a gay voice. "It's
going to be the best fun we have had for many a long day."
Maggie turned and looked at her.
"The auction? What auction do you mean?" she asked.
"Why, Polly Singleton's, of course. You've not heard of it? It's _the_
event of the term!"
Maggie laughed.
"You must be talking nonsense, Rose," she said. "An auction at St
Benet's! A real auction? Impossible!"
"No, it's not impossible. It's true. Polly owes for a lot of things,
and she's going to pay for them in that way. Did you not get a notice?
Polly declared she would send, one without fail to every girl in the
college."
"Now I remember," said Miss Oliphant, laughing. "I got an extraordinary
type-written production. I regarded it as a hoax, and consigned it to
the waste-paper basket."
"But it wasn't a hoax; it was true. Come away, Miss Oliphant, do.
Polly has got some lovely things."
"I don't think I even know who Polly is," said Maggie. "She surely is
not an inmate of Heath Hall?"
"No, no--of Katharine Hall. You must know her by sight, at least. A
great, big, fat girl, with red hair and freckles."
"Yes, now I remember. I think she has rather a pleasant face."
"Oh, do you really? Isn't she awfully common and vulgar-looking?"
"Common and vulgar-looking people are often pleasant, nevertheless,"
retorted Maggie.
"You'll come to her auction?" insisted Rose.
"I don't know. She has no right to have an auction. Such a proceeding
would give great displeasure to our Principals."
"How can you tell that? There never was an auction at the college
before."
"How can I tell, Rose? Instinct is my guide in a matter of this sort."
Maggie stepped back and looked haughty.
"Well," said Rose, "the Principals won't ever know; we are taking good
care of that."
"Oh! I hope you may be successful. Good-night."
Maggie turned to walk away. She saw Priscilla standing not far off.
"Come, Prissie," she said, affectionately, "you did admirably to-night,
but you must have another lesson. You missed two of the best points in
that last speech. Come back with me into the theatre at once."
Rose bit her lips with vexation. She was wildly anxious to be at the
auction. The sealskin might be put up for sale, and she not present.
The corals might go to some other happy girl; but she had made a resolve
to bring some of the very best girls in the college to this scene of
rioting. Her reckless companions had dared her to do this, and she felt
what she called "her honour" at stake. Nancy Banister had declined her
invitation with decision; Constance Field had withered her with a look.
Now she _must_ secure Maggie.
"I wish you'd come," she said, following Maggie and Prissie to the door
of the theatre. "It will be an awful disappointment if you don't! We
all reckoned on having you."
"What _do_ you mean, Rose?"
"We thought you wouldn't be above a bit of fun. You never used to be,
you know. You never used to be strict and proper, and over-righteous,
used you?" Priscilla was startled to see the queer change these few
words made on Maggie. Her cheeks lost their roses; her eyes grew big,
pathetic, miserable. Then a defiant expression filled them.
"If you put it in that way," she said, "I'll go and peep at the thing.
It isn't my taste, nor my style, but goodness knows I'm no better than
the rest of you. Come, Prissie."
Maggie seized Priscilla's hand; her clasp was so tight as to be almost
painful. She hurried Prissie along so fast that Rose could scarcely
keep up with them.
They entered the hall. Maggie seized a hat for herself and another for
Prissie from the hat-stand; then the three girls crossed the garden to
Katharine Hall. A moment or two later they had reached the scene of the
evening's amusement.
Loud voices and laughter greeted them; they entered a large room crowded
to overflowing. The atmosphere here was hot and stifling, and chaos
reigned supreme. Pictures, ornaments of all kinds had been removed
roughly and hastily from the walls; clothes, and even jewels, were piled
on the tables, and a tall girl, standing on a chair, was declaiming
volubly for the benefit of her companions. When Maggie, Rose, and
Priscilla entered the room Polly was exhibiting the charms of a yellow
silk dress somewhat the worse for wear. Laughter choked her voice; her
bright blue eyes shone with excitement and amusement.
"Who'll try this?" she began. "It has a double charm. Not only has it
reposed round this fair and lovely form, but the silk of which it is
made was given to me by my mother's aunt, who had it from her mother
before her. When I part with this, I part with a relic. Those who
purchase it secure for themselves a piece of history. Who will buy, who
will buy, who will buy? An historical dress going--such a bargain!
Who, who will buy?"
"I'll give you five shillings, Polly," screamed a dark-eyed girl who
stood near.
"Five shillings! This lovely dress going for five shillings!" proceeded
Polly.
"And sixpence," added another voice.
"This beautiful, historical robe going for five-and-sixpence," said Miss
Singleton, in her gay voice. "Oh, it's a bargain--it's dirt cheap! Who
will buy? who will buy?"
The bids went up, and finally the yellow dress was knocked down to a
rosy-faced country girl for the sum of thirteen shillings and ninepence.
Polly's various other possessions were one by one brought to the hammer,
some of them fetching fairly large sums, for they were most of them good
and worth having, and there were wealthy girls at the college, who were
not above securing a bargain when it came in their way.
At last the prize on which all Rose's hopes were set was put up for
sale. Polly's magnificent sealskin jacket was held aloft, and displayed
to the admiring and covetous gaze of many. Rose's face brightened; an
eager, greedy look filled her eyes. She actually trembled in her
anxiety to secure this prize of prizes.
Maggie Oliphant, who was standing in a listless, indifferent attitude
near the door, not taking the smallest part in the active proceedings
which were going forward, was for the first time roused to interest by
the expression on Rosalind's face. She moved a step or two into the
crowd, and when one or two timid bids were heard for the coveted
treasure, she raised her own voice, and for the first time appeared
eager to secure something for herself.
Rose bid against her, an angry flush filling her blue eyes as she did
so. Maggie nonchalantly made her next bid a little higher--Rose raised
hers. Soon they were the only two in the field; other girls had come to
the limit of their purses, and withdrew vanquished from the struggle.
Rosalind's face grew very white. Could she have knocked Maggie Oliphant
down with a blow she would have done so at that moment. Maggie calmly
and quietly continued her bids, raising them gradually higher and
higher. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten pounds: Rose had come to the
end of her resources. She stepped away with a bitter smile on her face.
The sealskin jacket was Maggie Oliphant's property for ten guineas.
Maggie laid it carelessly on a table near, and returning once more to
her position near the door, watched the sale proceed. One by one Polly
Singleton parted with her dresses, her pictures, her furniture. At
last, opening a case, she proceeded to dispose of some trinkets, none of
which, with the exception of the pink coral set, was of very high value.
This, which consisted of necklace, bracelets, and earrings, and some
pretty pins for the hair, was most eagerly coveted by many. Several
girls bid for the coral, and Maggie, who had not raised her voice since
she secured the sealskin jacket, once more noticed the greedy glitter in
Rosalind's eyes.
"I can't help it," she said, turning and speaking in a low voice to
Priscilla, who stood by her side--"I can't help it, Prissie; I don't
want that coral a bit--coral doesn't suit me: I dislike it as an
ornament. But something inside of me says Rose Merton shall not wear
it. Stay here, Prissie, I'll be back in a minute."
Miss Oliphant moved forward; she was so tall that her head could be seen
above those of most of the other girls.
The bids for the coral had now risen to three pounds ten. Maggie at one
bound raised them ten shillings. Rose bid against her, and for a short
time one or two other girls raised their previous offers. The price for
the coral rose and rose. Soon a large sum was offered for it, and still
the bids kept rising. Rosalind and Maggie were once more alone in the
field, and now any onlooker could perceive that it was not the desire to
obtain the pretty ornaments, but the wish for victory which animated
both girls.
When the bids rose above ten guineas Rosalind's face assumed a ghastly
hue, but she was now far too angry with Maggie to pause or consider the
fact that she was offering more money for the pink coral than she
possessed in the world. The bids still went higher and higher. There
was intense excitement in the room; all the noisy babel ceased. No
sound was heard but the eager voices of the two who were cruelly
fighting each other, and the astonished tones of the young auctioneer.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen pounds were reached. Maggie's bid was
fourteen pounds.
"Guineas!" screamed Rose, with a weak sort of gasp.
Maggie turned and looked at her, then walked slowly back to her place by
Priscilla's side.
The coral belonged to Rose Merton, and she had four guineas too little
to pay for it.