A Sweet Girl Graduate
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“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 rôle, 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.
Chapter Fourteen
In the Elliot-Smiths’ Drawing-Room
The fun and talk rose fast and furious. More and more guests arrived; the large drawing-rooms were soon almost as full as they could hold. Priscilla, from her corner, half-hidden by a sheltering window curtain, looked in vain for Rosalind. Where had she hidden herself? When were they going away? Surely Rosalind would come to fetch her soon? They had to walk home and be ready for dinner.
Dinner at St. Benet’s was at half-past six, and Prissie reflected with a great sensation of thankfulness that Rosalind and she must go back in good time for this meal, as it was one of the rules of the college that no girl should absent herself from late dinner without getting permission from the Principal.
Prissie looked in agony at the clock which stood on a mantelpiece not far from where she had ensconced herself. Presently it struck five; no one heard its silver note in the babel of sound, but Priscilla watched its slowly moving hands in an agony.
Rose must come to fetch her presently. Prissie knew – she reflected to her horror that she had not the moral courage to walk about those drawing-rooms hunting for Rose.
Two or three exquisitely dressed but frivolous-looking women stood in a group not far from the window where Priscilla sat forlorn. They talked about the cut of their mantles, and the price they had given for their new winter bonnets. Their shrill laughter reached Prissie’s ears, also their words. They complimented one another, but talked scandal of their neighbours. They called somebody – who, Prissie could not imagine – “a certain lady,” and spoke of how she was angling to get a footing in society, and how the good set at Kingsdene would certainly never have anything to do with her or hers.
“She’s taking up those wretched girl graduates,” said one of these gossips to her neighbour. Then her eye fell upon Prissie. She said “Hush!” in an audible tone, and the little party moved away out of earshot.
The minute hand of the clock on the mantelpiece pointed to nearly half-past five. Poor Prissie felt her miseries grow almost intolerable. Tears of mortification and anguish were forcing themselves to her eyes. She felt that, in addition to having lost so many hours of study, she would get into a serious scrape at St. Benet’s for breaking one of the known rules of the college.
At this moment a quiet voice said, “How do you do?”
She raised her tearful eyes. Geoffrey Hammond was standing by her side. He gave her a kind glance, shook hands with her, and stood by her window uttering commonplaces until Priscilla had recovered her self-possession. Then, dropping into a chair near, he said, abruptly —
“I saw you from the other end of the room. I was surprised. I did not suppose you knew our hostess.”
“Nor do I really,” said Prissie, with sudden vehemence. “Oh, it’s a shame!” she added, her face reddening up woefully; “I have been entrapped!”
“You must not let the people who are near us hear you say words of that kind,” said Hammond; “they will crowd around to hear your story. Now, I want it all to myself. Do you think you can tell it to me in a low voice?”
To poor Hammond’s horror Prissie began to whisper.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, interrupting her, “but do you know that the buzzing noise caused by a whisper carries sound a long way? That is a well authenticated fact. Now, if you will try to speak low.”
“Oh, thank you; yes, I will,” said Prissie. She began a garbled account Hammond looked at her face and guessed the truth. The miseries of her present position were depriving the poor girl of the full use of her intellect. At last he ascertained that Priscilla’s all-absorbing present anxiety was to be in time for the half-past six dinner at St. Benet’s.
“I know we’ll be late,” she said, “and I’ll have broken the rules, and Miss Heath will be so much annoyed with me.”
Hammond volunteered to look for Miss Merton.
“Oh, thank you,” said Prissie, the tears springing to her eyes. “How very, very kind you are.”
“Please don’t speak of it,” said Hammond. “Stay where you are. I’ll soon bring the young truant to your side.”
He began to move about the drawing-rooms, and Prissie from her hiding-place watched him with a world of gratitude 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 everyone 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 assure 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 scrape.”
“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 passion, 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 checks 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 pass 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-bye,” 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 Fifteen
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 assembled 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 Japanese effect. Several paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and were suspended to wire supports, which were fastened to different articles of furniture.
In honour of Miss Day’s cocoa, the lanterns were all lit now, and the effect, on fans and pictures and on brilliant bits of colour, was 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 case. 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 penny piece to bless myself with, and this letter came from Spilman to-night. Spilman says he’ll see Miss Eccleston if I don’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 sympathising 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 round 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.”
“My dears, he has more tin than he knows what to do with; but do you think I am going to have the poor old dear worried? When I was coming here he said, ‘Polly, you shall have thirty pounds every term to spend as pocket-money; not a penny more, not a penny less. And you must keep out of debt on it; mind that, Polly Singleton.’ I gave the dear old dad a hug. He’s the image of me – only with redder hair and more freckles. And I said, ‘I’ll do my best, dad, and anyhow, you sha’n’t be put out whatever happens.’”
“Then you didn’t tell him you’d keep out of debt?”
“No, for I knew I’d break my word. I’ve always been in debt ever since I could remember. I wouldn’t know how it felt not to owe a lot of money. It’s habit, and I don’t mind it a bit. But I don’t want dad to know, and I don’t want Miss Eccleston to know, for perhaps she would write to him. If those old horrors won’t wait for their money till next term, why there’s nothing for it but an auction. I have some nice things, and they’ll go very cheap; so there’s a chance for you all, girls.”