A Sweet Girl Graduate

“What chapel is the service at?” inquired Priscilla.

“What chapel? Is there a second? Come with me, and you will never ask that question again. Get under the shade of St. Hilda’s – see once those fretted roofs, and those painted windows. Listen but once to that angel choir, and then dare to ask me what chapel I mean, when I invite you to come and taste of heaven beforehand.”

“Thank you,” said Priscilla, “I’ll come. I cannot be expected to know about things before I have heard of them, can I? But I am very much obliged to you, and I shall be delighted to come.”

Chapter Nine

A New Like

The Vice-Principal’s room at Heath Hall was double the size of those occupied by the students. Miss Heath had, of course, a separate sleeping apartment. Her delightful sitting-room, therefore, had not the curtained-off effect which took slightly from the charm of the students’ rooms. In summer Miss Heath’s room was beautiful, for the two deep bay-windows – one facing west, the other south – looked out upon smoothly kept lawns and flower-beds, upon tall elm trees, and also upon a distant peep of the river, for which Kingsdene was famous, and some of the spires and towers of the old churches. In winter, too, however – and winter had almost come now – the Vice-Principal’s room had a unique effect, and Priscilla never forgot the first time she saw it. The young girl stepped across the threshold of a new life on this first evening. She would always remember it.

It was getting dark, and curtains were drawn round the cosy bays, and the firelight blazed cheerfully.

Prissie was a little before rather than behind her time, and there was no one in the room to greet her when she entered. She felt so overmastered by shyness, however, that this was almost a relief, and she sank down into one of the many comfortable chairs with a feeling of thankfulness, and looked around her.

The next moment a servant entered with a lamp, covered with a gold silk shade. She placed it on a table near the fire, and lit a few candles, which stood on carved brackets round the walls. Then Prissie saw what made her forget Miss Heath, and her shyness, and all else – a great bank of flowers, which stretched across one complete angle of the room. There were some roses, some chrysanthemums, some geraniums. They were cunningly arranged in pots, but had the effect at a little distance of a gay, tropical garden. Prissie rushed to them, knelt down by a tall, white, Japanese chrysanthemum, and buried her face in its long, wavy petals.

Prissie had never seen such flowers, and she loved all flowers. Her heart swelled with a kind of wonder; and when, the next moment, she felt a light and very soft kiss on her forehead she was scarcely surprised.

“My dear child,” said Miss Heath, “I am so sorry I was not in the room when you came in; but, never mind, my flowers gave you welcome.”

“Yes,” said Prissie, standing up pale, and with a luminous light in her eyes.

“You love flowers?” said Miss Heath, giving her a keen glance.

“Oh, yes; but I did not know – I could not guess – that any flower could be as beautiful as this,” and she touched the great white chrysanthemum with her finger.

“Yes, and there are some flowers even more wonderful. Have you ever seen orchids?”

“No.”

“Then you have something to live for. Orchids are ordinary flowers spiritualised. They have a glamour over them. We have good orchid shows sometimes at Kingsdene. I will take you to the next.”

The servant brought in tea, and Miss Heath placed Prissie in a comfortable chair, where she was neither oppressed by lamplight nor firelight.

“A shy little soul like this will love the shade,” she said to herself. “For all her plainness this is no ordinary girl, and I mean to draw her out presently. What a brow she has, and what a light came into her eyes when she looked at my white chrysanthemum.”

There came a tap at the door, and Maggie Oliphant entered, looking fresh and bright. She gave Prissie an affectionate glance and nod, and then began to busy herself, helping Miss Heath with the tea. During the meal a little pleasant murmur of conversation was kept up. Miss Heath and Maggie exchanged ideas. They even entered upon one or two delicate little skirmishes, each cleverly arguing a slight point on which they appeared to differ. Maggie could make smart repartees, and Miss Heath could parry her graceful young adversary’s home-thrusts with excellent effect.

They talked of one or two books which were then under discussion; they said a little about music, and a word or two with regard to the pictures which were just then causing talk among the art critics in London. It was all new to Prissie, this “light, airy, nothing” kind of talk. It was not study; could it be classed under the head of recreation?

Prissie was accustomed to classify everything, but she did not know under what head to put this pleasant conversation. She was bewildered, puzzled. She listened without losing a word. She forgot herself absolutely.

Miss Heath, however, who knew Maggie Oliphant, but did not know Prissie, was observant of the silent young stranger through all the delights of her pleasant talk. Almost imperceptibly she got Prissie to say a word or two. She paused when she saw a question in Prissie’s eyes, and her timid and gentle words were listened to with deference. By slow degrees Maggie was the silent one, and Priscilla and Miss Heath held the field between them.

“No, I have never been properly educated,” Prissie was saying. “I have never gone to a high school. I don’t do things in the regular fashion. I was so afraid I should not be able to pass the entrance examination for St. Benet’s. I was delighted when I found that I had done so.”

“You passed the examination creditably,” said Miss Heath. “I have looked through your papers. Your answers were not stereotyped. They were much better; they were thoughtful. Whoever has educated you, you have been well taught. You can think.”

“Oh, yes, my dear friend, Mr Hayes, always said that was the first thing.”

“Ah, that accounts for it,” replied Miss Heath. “You have had the advantage of listening to a cultivated man’s conversation. You ought to do very well here. What do you mean to take up?”

“Oh, everything. I can’t know too much.”

Miss Heath laughed, and looked at Maggie. Maggie was lying back in her easy-chair, her head resting luxuriously against a dark velvet cushion. She was tapping the floor slightly with her small foot; her eyes were fixed on Prissie. When Miss Heath laughed, Maggie echoed the sound, but both laughs were in the sweetest sympathy.

“You must not overwork yourself, my dear,” said Miss Heath. “That would be a very false beginning. I think – I am sure – that you have an earnest and ardent nature, but you must avoid an extreme which will only end in disaster.”

Prissie frowned.

“What do you mean?” she said. “I have come here to study. It has been done with such, such difficulty. It would be cruel to waste a moment. I mustn’t; it wouldn’t be right. You can’t mean what you say.”

Miss Heath was silent. She thought it kinder to look away from Prissie. After a moment she said, in a voice which she on purpose made intensely quiet and matter-of-fact —

“Many girls come to St. Benet’s, Miss Peel, who are, I fancy, circumstanced like you. Their friends find it difficult to send them here, but they make the sacrifice, sometimes in one way, sometimes in another – and the girls come. They know it is their duty to study; they have an ulterior motive, which underlies everything else. They know by-and-by they must pay back.”

“Oh, yes,” said Priscilla, starting forward, and a flush coming into her face. “I know that – that is what it is for. To pay back worthily – to give back a thousandfold what you have received. Those girls can’t be idle, can they?” she added in a gentle, piteous sort of way.

“My dear, there have been several such girls at St. Benet’s, and none of them has been idle; they have been best and first among our students. Many of them have done more than well – many of them have brought fame to St. Benet’s. They are in the world now, and earning honourable livelihoods as teachers, or in other departments where cultivated women can alone take the field. These girls are all paying back a thousandfold those who have helped them.”

“Yes,” said Prissie.

“You would like to follow their example?”

“Oh, yes; please tell me about them.”

“Some of them were like you, and thought they would take up everything – everything I mean in the scholastic line. They filled their days with lectures, and studied into the short hours of the night. Maggie, dear, please tell Miss Peel about Good-night and Good-morning.”

“They were such a funny pair,” said Maggie. “They had rooms next to each other in our corridor, Miss Peel. They were both studying for a tripos, and during the term before the examination one went to bed at four, and one got up at four. Mary Joliffe used to go into Susan Martin’s room and say good-morning to her. Susan used to raise such a white face and say, ‘Good-night, my dear.’ Well, poor things, neither of them got a tripos; they worked too hard.”

“The simple English of all this,” said Miss Heath, “is that the successful girl here is the girl who takes advantage of the whole life mapped out for her, who divides her time between play and work, who joins the clubs, and enters heartily into the social life of the place. Yes,” she added, looking suddenly full at Priscilla, “these last words of mine may seem strange to you, dear. Believe me, however, they are true. But I know,” she added with a sigh, “that it takes rather an old person to believe in the education of play.”

Priscilla looked unconvinced.

“I must do what you wish,” she said, “for, of course, you ought to know.”

“What a lame kind of assent, my love! Maggie, you will have to gently lure this young person into the paths of frivolity. I promise you, my dear, that you shall be a very cultivated woman some day; but I only promise this if you will take advantage of all sides of the pleasant life here. Now tell me what are your particular tastes? What branch of study do you like best?”

“I love Latin and Greek better than anything else in the world.”

“Do you truly?” said Maggie, suddenly starting forward. “Then in one thing we have a great sympathy. What have you read? Do tell me.”

Miss Heath stepped discreetly into the background. The two girls conversed for a long time together.

Chapter Ten

St. Hilda’s Chapel