A Sweet Girl Graduate

“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 afterwards 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 everyone 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 interfere.”

“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.

Chapter Twenty Nine

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 her 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 perfect – the glistening mass lay in natural waves over the small, graceful head.

Rosalind’s hair arranged to her satisfaction, she put on her lovely white dress. She stood before her long glass, a white-robed little figure, smiles round her lips, a sweet, bright colour in her cheeks, a dewy look in her baby-blue eyes. Rosalind’s toilet was all but finished; she stood before her glass now and hesitated. Should she go to the Elliot-Smiths’ as she was, or should she give the last finishing touch to render herself perfect? Should she wear her beautiful coral ornaments?

The coral was now her own, paid for to the uttermost farthing; Polly Singleton could not come up to Rosalind now, and disgrace her in public by demanding her coral back again. The coral was no longer Polly’s; it was Rosalind’s. The debt was cleared off; the exquisite ornaments were her own. Unlocking a drawer in her bureau she took out a case, which contained her treasures; she touched the spring of the case, opened it, and looked at them lovingly. The necklace, the bracelets, the earrings, and pins for the hair looked beautiful on their velvet pillow. For the sake of the pink coral, Rosalind had manoeuvred for her white dress; for its sake she had knowingly stinted her mother and sisters; for its sake she had also stolen a five-pound note from Maggie Oliphant. She dreamt many times of the triumphs which would be hers when she appeared at the Elliot-Smiths’ in her white silk dress, just tipped with the slight colour which the pink coral ornaments would bestow. Rosalind had likened herself to all kinds of lovely things in this beautiful yet simple toilet – to a daisy in the field, to a briar-rose: in short, to every flower which denoted the perfection of baby innocence.

Yet, as she held the coral necklace in her hand to-night, she hesitated deeply whether it would be wise to appear at the Elliot-Smiths’ in her treasured ornaments.

Rose had not felt comfortable all day. She had banished thought with the usual device of extra hilarity; she had crushed the little voice in her heart which would persistently cry, “Shame! shame!” which would go on telling her, “You are the meanest, the most wicked girl in St. Benet’s; you have done something for which you could be put in prison.” The voice had little opportunity of making itself heard that day, and, as Maggie Oliphant evidently did not intend to investigate the matter, Rosalind had every hope that her sin would never be found out. Nevertheless, she could not help feeling uneasy; for why did Annie Day, her own chosen and particular friend, so persistently avoid her? Why had Lucy Marsh refused to walk with her yesterday? and why did Annie so often look at her with meaning and inquiry in her eyes? These glances of Annie’s caused Rosalind’s heart to beat too quickly; they gave her an undefined sense of uneasiness.

She felt as she stood now before her glass that, after all, she was doing a rash thing in wearing her coral. Annie Day knew of her money difficulties; Annie knew how badly Rosalind had wanted four guineas to pay the debt she still owed for the ornaments. If Rosalind wore them to-night, Annie would ask numerous questions. Oh, yes, there was a risk – there was a decided risk – but Rosalind’s vanity was greater than her fears.

There came a knock at her room door. To Rosalind’s surprise, Annie Day’s voice, with an extremely friendly tone in it, was heard outside.

“Are you ready, Rosie?” she cried; “for, if you are, there is just room for you in the fly with Lucy Marsh and Miss Singleton and myself.”

“Oh, thank you!” cried Rosalind from the other side of the door; “just wait one moment, Annie, and I will be with you.”

Both fear and hesitation vanished at the friendly tones of Annie’s voice. She hastily fastened on her necklace and earrings, slipped on her bracelets, and stuck the coral pins in her hair. She saw a dazzling little image in the glass, and turned away with a glad, proud smile.

“We can’t be kept waiting; are you ready?” called Miss Day’s voice in the passage.

“Yes, yes; in one moment, Annie, dear,” replied Rosalind. She wrapped herself from head to foot in a long white opera cloak, pulled the hood over her head, seized her gloves and fan, and opened the door. The coral could not be seen now, and Annie, who was also in white, took her hand and ran with her down the corridor.

A few moments later the four girls arrived at the Elliot-Smiths’ and were shown into a dressing-room on the ground floor to divest themselves of their wraps. They were amongst the earliest of the arrivals, and Annie Day had both space and opportunity to rush up to Rosalind and exclaim at the perfect combination of white silk and pink coral.

“Lucy, Lucy!” she said, “do come and look at Rosalind’s coral! Oh, poor Polly! you must miss your ornaments; but I am obliged frankly to confess, my dear, that they are more becoming to this little cherub than they ever were to you.”

Polly was loudly dressed in blue silk. She came up, and turned Rosalind round, and, putting her hand on her neck, lifted the necklace, and looked at it affectionately.