A Sweet Girl Graduate

“I did love those ornaments,” she said; “but, of course, I can’t grudge them to you, Rose. You paid a good sum for them – didn’t you, dear? – although nothing like what they were worth, so, of course, they are yours by every right.”

“You have paid off the debt? I congratulate you, Rose,” said Annie Day.

“Yes,” said Rosalind, blushing.

“I am glad you were able to get the money, my dear.”

“And I wish she hadn’t got it,” retorted Polly. “Money is of no moment to me now. Dad is just rolling in wealth, and I have, in consequence, more money than I know what to do with. I confess I never felt crosser in my life than when you brought me that five-pound note last Monday night, Miss Merton.”

Rosalind coloured, then grew very pale; she saw Annie Day’s eyes blaze and darken. She felt that her friend was putting two and two together, and drawing a conclusion in her own mind. Annie turned abruptly from Rosalind, and, touching Lucy Marsh on the arm, walked with her out of the dressing-room. The unsuspecting Polly brought up the rear with Rosalind.

The four girls entered the drawing-room, and Rosalind tried to forget the sick fear which was creeping round her heart in the excitement of the moment.

Nearly an hour later Maggie Oliphant arrived. She was also in white, but without any ornament, except a solitary diamond star which blazed in the rich coils of her hair. The beautiful Miss Oliphant was received with enthusiasm. Until her arrival Rose had been the undoubted belle of the evening, but beside Maggie the petite charms which Rose possessed sank out of sight. Maggie herself never felt less conscious of beauty; the heaviness at her heart made her cheeks look pale, and gave her brown eyes a languid expression; she was indifferent to the admiration which greeted her. The admiration which greeted her gave her a momentary feeling of surprise – almost of displeasure.

Meta Elliot-Smith and her mother buzzed round Maggie, and expressed their gratitude to her for coming.

“We expect a friend of yours to arrive presently,” said Meta – “Mr Hammond. You know Mr Hammond, don’t you? I have had a note from him. He says he will look in as soon after ten as possible. I am so glad; I was dreadfully afraid he couldn’t come, for he had to go suddenly into the country at the beginning of this week. You know Mr Hammond very well, don’t you, Miss Oliphant?”

“Yes,” replied Maggie, in her careless voice; “he is quite an old friend of mine.”

“You will be glad to see him?”

“Very glad.”

Meta looked at her in a puzzled way. Reports of Hammond’s love affair had reached her ears. She had expected to see emotion and confusion on Maggie’s face; it looked bright and pleased. Her “very glad” had a genuine ring about it.

“I am so delighted he is coming!” repeated Meta. “I do trust he will be here in good time.”

She led Miss Oliphant to a prominent seat at the top of the room as she spoke.

“I shall have to leave soon after ten,” replied Maggie, “so, if Mr Hammond cannot arrive until after that hour, I shall not have the pleasure of seeing him.”

“Oh, but you must really stay later than that; it would be too cruel to leave us so early.”

“I am afraid I cannot. The gates are closed at St. Benet’s at eleven o’clock, and I do not care to remain out until the last moment.”

Meta was obliged, with great reluctance, to leave her guest, and a moment later Annie Day came up eagerly to Maggie’s side.

“It’s all right,” she said, drawing Miss Oliphant into the shelter of a window; “I have found out all I want to know.”

“What is that?” asked Maggie.

“Rosalind Merton is the thief.”

“Miss Day, how can you say such dreadful things?”

“How can Rosalind do them? I am awfully sorry – indeed, I am disgusted – but the facts are too plain.” Miss Day then in a few eager whispers, which Maggie in vain endeavoured to suppress, gave her chain of evidence. Rosalind’s distress; her passionate desire to keep the coral; her entreaties that Miss Day would lend her four guineas; her assurances that she had not a penny in the world to pay her debt; her fears that it was utterly useless for her to expect the money from her mother. Then the curious fact that, on that very same evening, Polly Singleton should have been given a five-pound note by her. “There is not the least doubt,” concluded Miss Day, “that Rosalind must have gone into your room, Miss Oliphant, and stolen the note while Priscilla was absent. You know Miss Peel said that she did leave your room for a moment or two to fetch her Lexicon. Rosalind must have seized the opportunity; there cannot be a doubt of it.”

Maggie’s face turned white; her eyes were full of indignation and horror.

“Something must be done,” continued Annie. “I am no prude, but I draw the line at thieves. Miss Merton ought to be expelled; she is not fit to speak to one of us.”

“The affair is mine,” said Maggie, after a pause. “You must let me deal with it.”

“Will you?”

“I certainly will.”

“To-night?”

“I cannot say; I must think. The whole thing is terrible, it upsets me.”

“I thought you would feel it. I am a good bit upset myself, and so is Lucy Marsh.”

“Does Miss Marsh know, too? In that case, Miss Day, it will, I fear, be my duty to consult Miss Heath. Oh, I must think; I can do nothing hastily. Please, Miss Day, keep your own counsel for the present, and ask Miss Marsh to do the same.”

Annie Day ran off, and Maggie stood by the open window looking out at the starry night. Her head ached; her pulses beat; she felt sick and tired. The noise and laughter which filled the gaily thronged rooms were all discordant to her – she wished she had not come. A voice close by made her start – a hand not only clasped hers, but held it firmly for a moment. She looked up, and said with a sudden impulse, “Oh, Geoffrey! I am glad you are here.” Then, with a burning blush, she withdrew her hand from Hammond’s.

“Can I help you?” he asked. His heart was beating fast; her words were tingling in his ears, but his tone was quiet. “Can I help you?” he repeated. “Here is a seat.” He pulled a chair from behind a curtain, and Maggie dropped into it.

“Something is wrong,” she said; “something dreadful has happened.”

“May I know what it is?”

“I don’t think I have any right to tell you. It is connected with the college; but it has given me a blow, and I was tired beforehand. I came here against my will, and now I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“That can be easily managed. I will stand here, and keep off all intruders.”

“Thank you.” Maggie put her hand to her forehead.

The headache, which had scarcely left her for a fortnight, was now so acute that all her thoughts were confused; she felt as if she were walking in a dream. It seemed perfectly right and natural that Hammond should stand by her side and protect her from the crowd; it seemed natural to her at that moment, natural, and even right, to appeal to him.

After a long pause, he said —

“I am afraid I also have bad news!”

“How?”

“I went to see my uncle, Mr Hayes.”

“Yes; it was good of you – I remember.”

“I failed in my mission. Mr Hayes says that Miss Peel, our Prissie’s aunt, would rather die than accept help from anyone.”

“Oh, how obstinate some people are!” replied Maggie, wearily. “Happiness, help, and succour come to their very door, and they turn these good things away.”

“That is true,” replied Hammond. “I am firmly convinced,” he added, “that the good angel of happiness is within the reach of most of us once at least in our lives; but for a whim – often for a mere whim – we tell him to go.”