A Sweet Girl Graduate, L. T. Meade [summer books .txt] 📗
- Author: L. T. Meade
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“My dear,” she said, “you look very ill.”
Maggie raised her eyes. Miss Heath had seen many moods on that charming face; now the expression in the wide-open, brown eyes caused her own to fill with sudden tears.
“I would do anything to help you, my love,” she said tenderly, and, stooping down, she kissed Maggie on her forehead.
“Perhaps, another time,” answered Miss Oliphant.
“You are all that is good, Miss Heath, and I may as well own frankly that I am neither well nor happy, but I have not come to speak of myself just now. I want to say something about Priscilla Peel.”
“Yes, what about her?”
“She came to you last night. I know what she came about.”
“She told me she had confided in you,” answered the vice-principal gravely.
“Yes. Well, I have come to say that she must not be allowed to give up her Greek and Latin.”
“Why not?”
“Miss Heath, how can you say, why not’? Prissie is a genius; her inclination lies in that direction. It is in her power to become one of the most brilliant classical scholars of her day.”
Miss Heath smiled. “Well, Maggie,” she said slowly, “even suppose that is the case— and you must own that, clever as Priscilla is, you make an extreme statement when you say such words— she may do well, very well, and yet turn her attention to other subjects for the present.”
“It is cruel!” said Maggie, rising and stamping her foot impatiently. “Priscilla has it in her to shed honor on our college. She will take a first-class when she goes for her tripos, if her present studies are not interfered with.”
Miss Heath smiled at Maggie in a pitying sort of way. “I admit,” she said, “that first-class honors would be a very graceful crown of bay to encircle that young head; and yet, Maggie, yet— surely Priscilla can do better?”
“What do you mean? How can she possibly do better?”
“She can wear a nobler crown. You know, Maggie, there are crowns to be worn which cannot fade.”
“Oh!” Maggie’s lips trembled. She looked down.
After a pause, she said, “Priscilla told me something of her home and her family. I suppose she has also confided in you, Miss Heath?”
“Yes, my dear.”
“Well, I have come to-night to say that it is in my power to use some of that money which I detest in helping Prissie— in helping her family. I mean to help them; I mean to put them all in such a position that Priscilla shall not need to spend her youth in uncongenial drudgery. I have come to say this to you, Miss Heath, and I beg of you— yes, I beg of you— to induce my dear Prissie to go on with her classical studies. It will now be in your power to assure her that the necessity which made her obliged to give them up no longer exists.”
“In short,” said Miss Heath, “you will give Miss Peel of your charity and take her independence away?”
“What do you mean?”
“Put yourself in her place, Maggie. Would you take money for yourself and those dear to you from a comparative stranger?”
Maggie’s face grew very red. “I think I would oblige my friend, my dear friend,” she said.
“Is Prissie really your dear friend?”
“Why do you doubt me? I love her very much. Since— since Annabel died, no one has come so close to me.”
“I am glad of that,” replied Miss Heath. She went up to Maggie and kissed her.
“You will do what I wish?” asked the girl eagerly.
“No, my dear: that matter lies in your hands alone. It is a case in which it is absolutely impossible for me to interfere. If you can induce Priscilla to accept money from you, I shall not say a word; and, for the sake of our college, I shall, perhaps, be glad, for there is not the least doubt that Prissie has it in her to win distinction for St. Benet’s. But, on the other hand, if she comes to me for advice, it will be impossible for me not to say to her: ‘My dear, character ranks higher than intellect. You may win the greatest prizes and yet keep a poor and servile soul. You may never get this great earthly distinction, and yet you may be crowned with honor— the honor which comes of uprightness, of independence, of integrity.’ Prissie may never consult me, of course, Maggie; but, if she does, I must say words something like these. To tell the truth, my dear, I never admired Priscilla more than I did last night. I encouraged her to give up her classics for the present and to devote herself to modern languages and to those accomplishments which are considered more essentially feminine. As I did so I had a picture before me, in which I saw Priscilla crowned with love, the support and blessing of her three little sisters. The picture was a very bright one, Maggie, and your crown of bay looks quite tawdry beside the other crown which I hope to see on Prissie’s brow.”
Maggie rose from her chair. “Good night,” she said.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, my love.”
“I have no doubt you are right,” said Maggie, “but,” she added, “I have not made up my mind, and I still long for Priscilla to wear the crown of bay.”
“You will win that crown yourself, my dear.”
“Oh, no, it is not for me.”
“I am very anxious about you, Maggie. Why do you speak in that reckless tone? Your position and Prissie’s are not the least alike: it is your duty to do your very utmost with those talents which have been bestowed upon you.”
“Perhaps,” answered Maggie, shrugging her shoulders, “but I am tired of stretching out my hand like a baby to catch soap-bubbles. I cannot speak of myself at all to-night, Miss Heath. Thank you for what you have said, and again good night.”
Maggie had scarcely left the room before Priscilla appeared.
“Are you too tired to see me to-night, Miss Heath?”
“No, my love; come in and sit down. I was sorry to miss you this morning.”
“But I am glad as it turned out,” replied Priscilla.
“You were in great trouble, Prissie. The servant told me how terribly upset you were.”
“I was. I felt nearly mad.”
“But you look very happy now.”
“I am; my trouble has all vanished away. It was a great bogie. As soon as I came boldly up to it, it vanished into smoke.”
“Am I to hear the name of the bogie?”
“I think I would rather not tell you— at least not now. If Maggie thinks it right, she will speak to you about it; but, as far as I am concerned, it cannot touch me again.”
“Why have you come to see me then to-night, Priscilla?”
“I want to speak about Maggie.”
“What about her? She has just been here to speak of you.”
“Has she?”
“It is possible that she may make you a proposition which will affect your whole future, but I am not at liberty to say any more. Have you a proposition to make about her?”
“I have, and it will affect all Maggie’s life. It will make her so good— so very, very happy. Oh, Miss Heath! you ought to do it: you ought to make her marry Mr. Hammond at once.”
“My dear Priscilla!” Miss Heath’s face turned crimson. “Are you alluding to Geoffrey Hammond? I know great friends of his; he is one of the cleverest men at St. Hilda’s.”
“Yes, and one of the best,” pursued Prissie, clasping her hands and speaking in that excited way which she always did when quite carried out of herself. “You don’t know how good he is, Miss Heath. I think he is one of the best of men. I would do anything in the world for him— anything.”
“Where have you met him, Priscilla?”
“At the Marshalls’, and once at the Elliot-Smiths’, and to-day, when I was so miserable, when the bogie ran after me, you know, at St. Hilda’s, just outside the chapel. Mr. Hammond asked me to come to the service, and I went, and afterward he chased the bogie away. Oh, he is good, he is kind and he loves Maggie with all his heart. He has loved her for a long time, I am sure, but she is never nice to him.”
“Then, of course,” said Miss Heath, “if Miss Oliphant does not care for Mr. Hammond, there is an end of the matter. You are a very innocent and very young girl, Priscilla; but this is a subject in which you have no right to interfere. Far from me to say that I disapprove of marriage for our students, but, while at St. Benet’s, it is certainly best for them to give their attention to other matters.”
“For most of us,” replied Prissie, “but not for Maggie. No one in the college thinks Maggie happy.”
“That is true,” replied Miss Heath thoughtfully.
“And every one knows,” pursued Prissie, “that Mr. Hammond loves her.”
“Do they? I was not aware that such reports had got abroad.”
“Oh, yes: all Maggie’s friends know that, but they are so dreadfully stupid they cannot guess the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“That dear Maggie is breaking her heart on account of Mr. Hammond.”
“Then you think she loves him?”
“I do— I know it. Oh, won’t you do something to get them to marry each other?”
“My dear child, these are subjects in which neither you nor I can interefere.”
“Oh!” Prissie’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “If you won’t do anything, I must.”
“I don’t see what you can do, Priscilla; I don’t know what you have a right to do. We do not care that our students should think of love and courtship while here, but we have never limited their freedom in the matter. If Miss Oliphant cares for Mr. Hammond, and he cares for her, they know perfectly that they can become engaged. Miss Oliphant will be leaving St. Benet’s at the end of the summer term. She is completely, in every sense of the word, her own mistress.”
“Oh, no, she is not her own mistress, she is oppressed by a bogie. I don’t know the name of the bogie, or anything about it; but it is shadowing all Maggie’s life; it is taking the sunshine away from her, and it is making it impossible for her to marry Mr. Hammond. They are both so fond of each other; they have both noble hearts, but the dreadful bogie spoils everything— it keeps them apart. Dear Miss Heath, I want you to come and kill the bogie.”
“I must find out its name first,” said Miss Heath.
AT THE ELLIOT-SMITHS PARTY
Rosalind Merton had been in the wildest spirits all day; she had laughed with the gayest, joined in all the games, thrown herself heart and soul into every project which promised fun, which gave a possibility for enjoyment. Rosalind’s mood might have been described as reckless. This was not her invariable condition. She was a girl who, with all her gay spirits, took life with coolness. She was not given to over-excitement; her nerves were too well balanced for anything of this kind.
To-day, however, something seemed wrong with these equable nerves of hers: she could not keep still; her voice was never quiet; her laugh was constant. Once or twice she saw Annie Day’s eyes fixed upon her; she turned from their glance; a more brilliant red than usual dyed her cheeks; her laugh grew louder and more insolent.
On this evening the Elliot-Smiths would give their long-promised party. The wish of Annie Day’s heart was gratified; she had angled for an invitation to this merry-making and obtained it. Lucy Marsh was also going, and several other St. Benet’s girls would be present.
Early in the evening Rosalind retired to her own room, locked her door, and, taking out her new white dress, laid it across the bed. It was a very pretty dress, made of soft silk, which did not rustle, but lay in graceful puffs and folds on body and skirt. It was just the dress to make this young, slight figure of Rosalind’s look absolutely charming. She stood over it now and regarded it lovingly. The dress had been obtained, like most of Rosalind’s possessions, by manoeuvres. She had made up a piteous story, and her adoring mother had listened and contrived to deny herself and some of Rosalind’s younger sisters to purchase the white robe on which the young girl’s heart was set.
Deliberately and slowly Rosalind made her toilet, her golden, curling hair was brushed out and then carefully coiled round her head. Rosalind had no trouble with her hair: a touch or two, a pin stuck here, a curl arranged there, and the arrangement became
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