A Sweet Girl Graduate Part 12

"Oh, well-- if you care to be in the----" resumed Rosalind.

Maggie suddenly flashed round on her.

"Come, Miss Peel, we'll be late," she said. "Goodby." She nodded to Rosalind; her eyes were full of an angry fire; she took Prissie's hand and hurried down the street.

The two girls walked away, still giggling; a deep color mantled Maggie's cheeks. She turned and began to talk desperately to Mr.

Hammond. Her tone was flippant; her silvery laughter floated in the air. Priscilla turned and gazed at her friend. She was seeing Maggie in yet another aspect. She felt bewildered.

The three presently reached a pleasant house standing in its own grounds. They were shown into a large drawing-room, full of young people. Mrs. Marshall, a pretty old lady, with white hair, came forward to receive them. Maggie was swept away amid fervent embraces and handshakes to the other end of the room. Mrs. Marshall saw that Priscilla looked frightened; she took her under her wing, sat down by her on a sofa and began to talk.

Prissie answered in a sedate voice. Mrs. Marshall had a very gentle manner. Prissie began to lose her shyness; she almost imagined that she was back again with Aunt Raby.

"My dear, you will like us all very much," the old lady said. "No life can be so absolutely delightful as that of a girl graduate at St.

Benet's. The freedom from care, the mixture of study with play, the pleasant social life, all combine to make young women both healthy and wise. Ah, my love, we leave out the middle of the old proverb. The girls at St. Benet's are in that happy period of existence when they need give no thought to money-making."

"Some are," said Prissie. She sighed and the color rushed into her cheeks. Mrs. Marshall looked at her affectionately.

"Helen," she called to her granddaughter who was standing near, "bring Miss Peel another cup of tea-- and some cake, Helen-- some of that nice cake you made yesterday. Now, my love, I insist. You don't look at all strong. You really must eat plenty."

Helen Marshall supplied Prissie's wants, was introduced to her, and, standing near, joined in the talk.

"I am so glad you know Miss Oliphant," said Mrs. Marshall. "She will make a delightful friend for you."

"And isn't she lovely?" said Helen Marshall. "I don't think I know any one with such a beautiful face. You ought to be very proud to have her as a friend. Aren't you very proud?"

"No," said Prissie, "I don't know that I am. I am not even sure that she is my friend."

"Of course she is-- she wrote most affectionately of you to grandmother. You can't think how nicely she spoke. We were glad, we were delighted, because Maggie-- dear Maggie-- has had no great friends lately. Now, if you have had your tea, Miss Peel, I'll take you about the room and introduce you to one or two people."

Priscilla rose from her seat at once, and the two girls began to move about the crowded drawing-room. Helen Marshall was very slight and graceful; she piloted Prissie here and there without disturbing any one's arrangements. At last the two girls found themselves in an immense conservatory, which opened into the drawing-room at one end.

A great many of the guests were strolling about here. Priscilla's eyes sparkled at the sight of the lovely flowers. She forgot herself and made eager exclamations of ecstasy. Helen, who up to now had thought her a dull sort of girl, began to take an interest in her.

"I'll take you into our fern-house, which is just beyond here," she said. "We have got such exquisite maidenhairs and such a splendid Killarney fern. Come; you shall see."

The fern-house seemed to be deserted. Helen opened the door first and ran forward. Prissie followed. The fern-house was not large; they had almost reached the end when a girl stood up suddenly and confronted them. The girl was Maggie Oliphant. She was sitting there alone. Her face was absolutely colorless and tears were lying wet on her eyelashes.

Maggie made a swift remark, a pa.s.sing jest, and hurried past the two into the conservatory.

Priscilla could scarcely tell why, but at that moment she lost all interest in both ferns and flowers. The look of misery on Maggie's face seemed to strike her own heart like a chill.

"You look tired," said Helen Marshall, who had not noticed Maggie's tearful eyes.

"Perhaps I am," answered Prissie.

They went back again into the drawing-room. Prissie still could see nothing but Miss Oliphant's eyes and the look of distress on her pale face.

Helen suddenly made a remark.

"Was there ever such a merry creature as Maggie?" she said. "Do look at her now."

Prissie raised her eyes. Miss Oliphant was the center of a gay group, among whom Geoffrey Hammond stood. Her laugh rang out clear and joyous; her smile was like sunshine, her cheeks had roses in them and her eyes were as bright as stars.

CHAPTER XI

CONSPIRATORS

ANNIE DAY and her friend Rosalind ceased to laugh as soon as they turned the corner. Annie now turned her eyes and fixed them on Rosalind, who blushed and looked uncomfortable.

"Well," said Annie, "you are a humbug, Rose! What a story you told me about Mr. Hammond-- how he looked at you and was so anxious to make use of you. Oh, you know all you said. You told me a charming story about your position as gooseberry.' You expected a little fun for yourself, didn't you, my friend? Well, it seems to me that if any one is to have the fun, it is Priscilla Peel."

Rosalind had rather a nervous manner. She bit her lips now; her baby-blue eyes looked angry, her innocent face wore a frown. She dropped her hold of Annie Day's arm.

Miss Day was one of the most commonplace girls at Heath Hall. She had neither good looks nor talent; she had no refinement of nature nor had she those rugged but sterling qualities of honesty and integrity of purpose which go far to cover a mult.i.tude of other defects.

"I wish you wouldn't speak to me in that way," said Rosalind with a little gasp. "I hate people to laugh at me, and I can't stand sneers."

"Oh, no! you're such a dear little innocent baby. Of course, I can quite understand. And does she suppose I'll ruffle her pretty little feathers? No, not I. I'd rather invent a new cradle song for you, Rosie, dear."

"Don't, don't!" said Rosalind. "Look here, Annie, I must say something-- yes, I must. I hate Maggie Oliphant!"

"You hate Miss Oliphant?" Annie Day stood still, turned round and stared at her companion. "When did this revolution take place, my dear? What about Rose and Maggie sitting side by side at dinner? And Rose creeping away all by herself to Maggie's room and angling for an invitation to cocoa, and trying hard, very hard, to become a member of the Dramatic Society, just because Maggie acts so splendidly. Has it not been Maggie-- Maggie-- ever since the term began, until we girls, who were not in love with this quite too charming piece of perfection, absolutely hated the sound of her name? Oh, Rose, what a fickle baby you are. I am ashamed of you!"

"Don't!" said Rose again. She linked her hand half timidly in Miss Day's arm. Miss Day was almost a head and shoulders above the little, delicate, fairy-like creature. "I suppose I can't help changing my mind," she said. "I did love Maggie, of course I loved her-- she fascinated me; but I don't care for her-- no, I hate her now!"

"How vehemently you p.r.o.nounce that naughty word, my fair Rosalind. You must give me some reasons for this grievous change in your feelings."

"She snubbed me," said Rosalind; "she made little of me. I offered to do her a kindness and she repulsed me. Who cares to be made little of and repulsed?"

Who, truly, Rosie?-- not even an innocent baby. Now then, my love, let me whisper a little secret to you. I have never loved Miss Oliphant. I have never been a victim to her charms. Time was when she and Miss Lee-- poor Annabel!-- ruled the whole of our hall. Those two girls carried everything before them. That was before your day, Rose. Then Miss Lee died. She caught a chill, and had a fever, and was dead in a couple of days. Yes, of course, it was shocking. They moved her to the hospital, and she died there. Oh, there was such excitement, and such grief-- even I was sorry; for Annabel had a way about her, I can't describe it, but she could fascinate you. It was awfully interesting to talk to her, and even to look at her was a pleasure. We usedn't to think much about Maggie when Annabel was by; but now, what with Maggie and her mystery, and Maggie and her love affair, and Maggie and her handsome face, and her wealth, and her expectations, why she bids fair to be more popular even than the two were when they were together.

Yes, little Rose, I don't want her to be popular any more than you do.

I think it's a very unhealthy sign of any place to have all the girls sighing and groaning about one or two-- dying to possess their autographs, and kissing their photographs, and framing them, and putting them up in their rooms. I hate that mawkish kind of nonsense,"

continued Miss Day, looking very virtuous, "and I think Miss Heath ought to know about it, and put a stop to it. I do, really."

Rosalind was glad that the gathering darkness prevented her sharp companion from seeing the blush on her face, for among her own sacred possessions she kept an autograph letter of Maggie's, and she had pa.s.sionately kissed Maggie's beautiful face as it looked at her out of a photograph, and, until the moment when all her feelings had undergone such a change, was secretly saving up her pence to buy a frame for it. Now she inquired eagerly:

"What is the mystery about Miss Oliphant? So many people hint about it, I do wish you would tell me, Annie."

"If I told you, pet, it would cease to be a mystery."

"But you might say what you know. Do, Annie!"

"Oh, it isn't much-- it's really nothing; and yet-- and yet--"

"You know it isn't nothing, Annie!"

"Well, when Annabel died, people said that Maggie had more cause than any one else to be sorry. I never could find out what that cause was; but the servants spread some reports. They said they had found Maggie and Annabel together; Annabel had fainted; and Maggie was in an awful state of misery-- in quite an unnatural state, they said; she went into hysterics, and Miss Heath was sent for, and was a long time soothing her. There was no apparent reason for this, although, somehow or other, little whispers got abroad that the mystery of Annabel's illness and Maggie's distress was connected with Geoffrey Hammond. Of course, nothing was known, and nothing is known; but, certainly, the little whisper got into the air. Dear me, Rosalind, you need not eat me with your eyes. I am repeating mere conjectures, and it is highly probable that not the slightest notice would have been taken of this little rumor but for the tragedy which immediately followed. Annabel, who had been as gay and well as any one at breakfast that morning, was never seen in the college again. She was unconscious, the servants said, for a long time, and when she awoke was in high fever. She was removed to the hospital, and Maggie had seen the last of her friend.

Poor Annabel died in two days, and afterward Maggie took the fever.