wish I could," she said. "If there has been anything I regretted inthe auction, besides getting all you girls into a mess, it has been mysealskin jacket. Dad is almost certain to ask me about it, for he nevermade me such a handsome present before. Poor dad! he was so proud thenight he brought it home. He said, `Look here, Poll, I paid a wholesheaf of fivers for this, and although it cost me a good round eightyguineas, I'm told it's cheap at the price. Put it on, and let me seehow you look in it,' he said. And when I had it on he twisted me round,and chucked me under the chin, and said I was `a bouncer.' Poor olddad! He was as proud as Punch of me in that jacket I never saw anythinglike it."
"Well, he can be as proud as Punch of you again. Here is the jacket foryour very own once more. Good-night."
She walked to the door, but Miss Singleton ran after her.
"I can't take it back," she said. "I'm not as mean as all that comesto. It's yours now; you got it as fair as possible."
"Listen, Miss Singleton," said Maggie. "If I keep that jacket I shallnever wear it. I detest sealskin jackets. It won't be the least scrapof use to me."
"You detest sealskin jackets? How can you? Oh, the lovely things theyare. Let me stroke the beauty down."
"Stroke your beauty, and pet it as much as you like, only let me say`Good-night,' now."
"But, please, Miss Oliphant, please, I'd do anything in the world to getthe jacket back, of course. But I've ten guineas of yours, andhonestly, I can't pay them back."
"Allow me to lend them to you until next term. You can return me themoney then, can you not?" Polly's face became on the instant a show ofshining eyes, gleaming white teeth, and glowing cheeks.
"Of course I could pay you back, you--_darling_," she said withenthusiasm. "Oh, what a relief this is to me; I'd have done anything inall the world to have my jacket back again."
"It's a bargain, then. Good-night, Miss Singleton."
Maggie tossed the jacket on Polly's bed, touched her hand lightly withone of her own, and left the room. She went quickly back to her ownpretty sitting-room, locked her door, threw herself on her knees by herbureau, and sobbed long and passionately.
During the few days which now remained before the end of the term no onequite knew what was wrong with Miss Oliphant. She worked hard inpreparation for her lectures, and when seen in public was always verymerry. But there was a certain hardness about her mirth which her bestfriends detected, and which caused Nancy Banister a good deal of puzzledpain.
Priscilla was treated very kindly by Maggie; she still helped herwillingly with her Greek, and even invited her into her room once ortwice. But all the little half-beginnings of confidence which, now andthen, used to burst from Maggie's lips, the allusions to old times, thesentences which revealed deep thoughts and high aspirations, all these,which made the essence of true friendship, vanished out of herconversation.
Priscilla said to herself over and over that there was really nodifference--that Miss Oliphant was still as kind to her, as valued afriend as ever--but in her heart she knew that this was not the case.
Maggie startled all her friends by making one request. Might theypostpone the acting of _The Princess_ until the middle of the followingterm?
"I cannot do it justice now," she said. "I cannot throw my heart andsoul into my part. If you act the play now you must allow me towithdraw."
The other girls, Constance Field in particular, were astonished. Theyeven felt resentful. All arrangements had been made for this especialplay. Maggie was to be the Princess herself; no one could possibly takeher place. It was most unreasonable of her to withdraw now.
But it was one of the facts well-known at St Benet's that, fascinatingas Miss Oliphant was, she was also unreasonable. On certain occasionsshe could even be disobliging. In short, when Maggie "took the bitbetween her teeth," to employ an old metaphor, she could neither be lednor driven. After a great deal of heated discussion and indignantwords, she had her will. The play was deferred till the following term,and one or two slight comedies, which had been acted before, wererevived in a hurry to take its place.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
A BLACK SATIN JACKET.
Very active preparations were being made in a certain rather humblelittle cottage in the country for the heroine's return. Three smallgirls were making themselves busy with holly and ivy, with badly-cutpaper flowers, with enormous texts coarsely illustrated, to render thehome gay and festive in its greeting. A little worn old woman lay on asofa, and superintended these active measures.
"How soon will she be here now?" said Hattie the vigorous.
"Do stay still, Hattie, and don't fidget. Don't you see how tired AuntRaby looks?" exclaimed Rose. "Prissie can't be here yet, and you aresuch a worry when you jump up and down like that, Hattie."
Rose's words were quite severe, and Hattie planted herself on the edgeof a chair, folded her plump hands, managed to get a demure look intoher laughing eyes and dimpled mouth, and sat motionless for about half aminute. At the end of that time she tumbled on the floor with a loudcrash, and Aunt Raby sprang to her feet with some alarm.
"Good gracious, child! are you hurt? What's the matter?"
Hattie was sitting on the floor in convulsions of mirth.
"I'm not hurt," she exclaimed. "I slipped off the chair. I didn't meanto; I couldn't help it, really. I'm sorry I woke you, Aunt Raby."
"I wasn't asleep, child." Miss Peel walked across the room, andvanished into the kitchen, from which very savoury smells issued.
Hattie and Rose began to quarrel and argue, and Katie, who was more orless of a little peacemaker, suggested that they should draw up theblind, and all three get into the window to watch for Prissie.
"I wonder how she will look?" said Rose, when they were all comfortablyestablished.
"I hope she won't talk in Latin," exclaimed Hattie.
"Oh, it is nice to think of seeing Prissie so soon," murmured Katie inan ecstasy.
"I wonder," began Rose in her practical voice, "how soon Prissie willbegin to earn money. We want money even more than when she went away.Aunt Raby isn't as well as she was then, and since the cows were sold--"
"Hush!" said Hattie. "You know we promised we wouldn't tell Prissieabout the cows."
Just then a distant sound of wheels was heard. The little girls beganto jump and shout; a moment later and Priscilla stood in the midst ofher family. A great excitement followed her arrival. There were kissesand hugs, and wild, rapturous words from the affectionate littlesisters. Aunt Raby put her arms round Priscilla, and gave her a solemnsort of kiss, and then the whole party adjourned into the supper-room.
The feast which was spread was so dainty and abundant that Katie askedin a puzzled sort of way if Aunt Raby considered Prissie like theProdigal Son.
"What fancies you have, child!" said Aunt Raby. "The Prodigal Son,indeed! Thank Heaven, I've never had to do with that sort! As toPriscilla here, she's as steady as Old Time. Well, child, and are yougetting up your learning very fast?"
"Pretty well, Aunt Raby."
"And you like your grand college, and all those fine young-lady friendsof yours?"
"I haven't any fine young-lady friends."
"H'm! I daresay they are like other girls; a little bit of learning,and a great deal of dress, eh?" Priscilla coloured.
"There are all sorts of girls at St Benet's," she said after a pause."Some are real students, earnest, devoted to their work."
"Have you earned any money yet, Prissie?" exclaimed Hattie. "For if youhave, I do want--look--" She thrust a small foot, encased in a brokenshoe, prominently into view.
"Hattie, go to bed this minute!" exclaimed Aunt Raby. "Go up to yourroom all three of you little girls. No more words--off at once, all ofyou. Prissie, you and I will go into the drawing-room, and I'll lie onthe sofa, while you tell me a little bit about your college life."
"Aunt Raby always lies oh the sofa in the evenings now," burst fromHattie the irrepressible.
&
nbsp; Miss Peel rushed after the plump little girl, and pushed her out of theroom.
"To bed, all of you!" she exclaimed. "To bed, and to sleep! Now,Prissie, you are not to mind a word that child says. Come into thedrawing-room, and let us have a few words quietly. Oh, yes, I'll lie onthe sofa, my dear, if you wish it. But Hattie is wrong; I don't do itevery night. I suffer no pain either, Prissie. Many a woman of my ageis racked with rheumatics."
The last words were said with a little gasp. The elder woman lay backon the sofa, with a sigh of relief. She turned her face so that