A Sweet Girl Graduate by L. T. Meade (most read book in the world TXT) 📗

The fun and talk rose fast and furious. More and more guests arrived; the large drawing-rooms were soon almost as full as they could hold. Priscilla, from her corner, half-hidden by a sheltering window curtain, looked in vain for Rosalind. Where had she hidden herself? When were they going away? Surely Rosalind would come to fetch her soon? They had to walk home and be ready for dinner.

Dinner at St. Benet’s was at half-past six, and Prissie reflected with a great sensation of thankfulness that Rosalind and she must go back in good time for this meal, as it was one of the rules of the college that no girl should absent herself from late dinner without getting permission from the principal.

Prissie looked in agony at the clock which stood on a mantel-piece not far from where she had ensconced herself. Presently it struck five; no one heard its silver note in the babel of sound, but Priscilla watched its slowly moving hands in an agony.

Rose must come to fetch her presently. Prissie knew— she reflected to her horror that she had not the moral courage to walk about those drawing-rooms hunting for Rose.

Two or three exquisitely dressed but frivolous-looking women stood in a group not far from the window where Priscilla sat forlorn. They talked about the cut of their mantles and the price they had given for their new winter bonnets. Their shrill laughter reached Prissie’s ears, also their words. They complimented one another, but talked scandal of their neighbors. They called somebody— who Prissie could not imagine—“a certain lady,” and spoke of how she was angling to get a footing in society, and how the good set at Kingsdene would certainly never have anything to do with her or hers.

“She’s taking up those wretched girl graduates,” said one of these gossips to her neighbor. Then her eye fell upon Prissie. She said “Hush!” in an audible tone, and the little party moved away out of earshot.

The minute hand of the clock on the mantel-piece pointed to nearly half-past five. Poor Prissie felt her miseries grow almost intolerable. Tears of mortification and anguish were forcing themselves to her eyes. She felt that, in addition to having lost so many hours of study, she would get into a serious scrape at St. Benet’s for breaking one of the known rules of the college.

At this moment a quiet voice said, “How do you do?”

She raised her tearful eyes. Geoffrey Hammond was standing by her side. He gave her a kind glance, shook hands with her and stood by her window uttering commonplaces until Priscilla had recovered her self-possession. Then, dropping into a chair near, he said abruptly:

“I saw you from the other end of the room. I was surprised. I did not suppose you knew our hostess.”

“Nor do I really,” said Priscilla with sudden vehemence. “Oh, it’s a shame!” she added, her face reddening up woefully; “I have been entrapped!”

“You must not let the people who are near us hear you say words of that kind,” said Hammond; “they will crowd around to hear your story. Now, I want it all to myself. Do you think you can tell it to me in a low voice?”

To poor Hammond’s horror Prissie began to whisper.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, interrupting her, “but do you know that the buzzing noise caused by a whisper carries sound a long way? That is a well authenticated fact. Now, if you will try to speak low.”

“Oh, thank you; yes, I will,” said Prissie. She began a garbled account. Hammond looked at her face and guessed the truth. The miseries of her present position were depriving the poor girl of the full use of her intellect. At last he ascertained that Priscilla’s all-absorbing present anxiety was to be in time for the half-past six dinner at St. Benet’s.

“I know we’ll be late,” she said, “and I’ll have broken the rules, and Miss Heath will be so much annoyed with me.”

Hammond volunteered to look for Miss Merton.

“Oh, thank you,” said Prissie, the tears springing to her eyes. “How very, very kind you are.”

“Please don’t speak of it,” said Hammond. “Stay where you are. I’ll soon bring the young truant to your side.”

He began to move about the drawing-rooms, and Prissie from her hiding-place watched him with a world of gratitude in her face. “Talk of my stirring from this corner,” she said to herself, “why, I feel glued to the spot! Oh, my awful muddy boots. I daren’t even think of them. Now I do hope Mr. Hammond will find Miss Merton quickly. How kind he is! I wonder Maggie does not care for him as much as he cares for her. I do not feel half as shy with him as I do with every one else in this dreadful— dreadful room. Oh, I do trust he’ll soon come back and bring Miss Merton with him. Then, if we run all the way, we may, perhaps, be in time for dinner.”

Hammond was absent about ten minutes; they seemed like so many hours to anxious Prissie. To her horror she saw him returning alone, and now she so far forgot her muddy boots as to run two or three steps to meet him. She knocked over a footstool as she did so, and one or two people looked round and shrugged their shoulders at the poor gauche girl.

“Where is she?” exclaimed Prissie, again speaking in a loud voice. “Oh, haven’t you brought her? What shall I do?”

“It’s all right, I assure you, Miss Peel. Let me conduct you back to that snug seat in the window. I have seen Miss Merton, and she says you are to make yourself happy. She asked Miss Heath’s permission for you both to be absent from dinner to-day.”

“She did? I never heard of anything so outrageous. I won’t stay. I shall go away at once.”

“Had you not better just think calmly over it? If you return to St. Benet’s without Miss Merton, you will get her into a scrape.”

“Do you think I care for that? Oh, she has behaved disgracefully! She has told Miss Heath a lie. I shall explain matters the very moment I go back.”

Priscilla was not often in a passion, but she felt in one now. She lost her shyness and her voice rose without constraint.

“I am not supposed to know the ways of society,” she said, “but I don’t think I want to know much about this sort of society.” And she got up, prepared to leave the room.

The ladies, who had been gossiping at her side, turned at the sound of her agitation. They saw a plain, badly dressed girl, with a frock conveniently short for the muddy streets, but by no means in tone with her present elegant surroundings, standing up and contradicting, or at least appearing to contradict, Geoffrey Hammond, one of the best known men at St. Hilda’s, a Senior Wrangler, too. What did this gauche girl mean? Most people were deferential to Hammond, but she seemed to be scolding him.

Prissie for the time being became more interesting even than the winter fashions. The ladies drew a step or two nearer to enjoy the little comedy.

Priscilla noticed no one, but Hammond felt these good ladies in the air. His cheeks burned and he wished himself well out of his present position.

“If you will sit down, Miss Peel,” he said in a low, firm voice, “I think I can give you good reasons for not rushing away in this headlong fashion.”

“Well, what are they?” said Prissie. Hammond’s voice had a sufficiently compelling power to make her sit down once more on her window-ledge.

“Don’t you think,” he said, seating himself in front of her, “that we may as well keep this discussion to ourselves?”

“Oh, yes; was I speaking too loud? I wouldn’t vex you for anything.”

“Pardon me; you are still speaking a little loud.”

“Oh!” Poor Prissie fell back, her face crimson. “Please say anything you wish,” she presently piped in a voice as low as a little mouse might have used.

“What I have to say is simply this,” said Hammond: “You will gain nothing now by rushing off to St. Benet’s. However hard you struggle, you cannot get there in time for dinner. Would it not be best, then, to remain here quietly until Miss Merton asks you to accompany her back to the college? Then, of course, it will remain with you to pay her out in any way you think well.”

“Thank you; perhaps that is best. It is quite hopeless now to think of getting back in time for dinner. I only hope Miss Merton won’t keep me waiting very long, for it is very, very dull sitting here and seeing people staring at you.”

“I would not look at them if I were you, Miss Peel; and, if you will permit me, I shall be only too pleased to keep you company.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Prissie. “Then I sha’n’t mind staying at all.”

The next half-hour seemed to pass on the wings of the wind.

Priscilla was engaged in an animated discussion with Hammond on the relative attractions of the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey;” her opinion differed from his, and she was well able to hold her ground. Her face was now both eloquent and attractive, her eyes were bright, her words terse and epigrammatic. She looked so different a girl from the cowed and miserable little Prissie of an hour ago that Rosalind Merton as she came up and tapped her on the shoulder, felt a pang of envy.

“I am sorry to interrupt you,” she said, “but it is time for us to be going home. Have you given Mr. Hammond his message?”

“What do you mean?” asked Priscilla. “I have not any message for Mr. Hammond.”

“You must have forgotten. Did not Miss Oliphant give you a letter for him?”

“Certainly not. What do you mean?”

“I felt sure I saw her,” said Rosalind. “I suppose I was mistaken. Well, sorry as I am to interrupt a pleasant talk, I fear I must ask you to come home with me now.”

She raised her pretty baby eyes to Hammond’s face as she spoke. He absolutely scowled down at her, shook hands warmly with Priscilla and turned away.

“Come and bid Mrs. Elliot-Smith good-by,” said Rosalind, her eyes still dancing. “She is at the other end of the drawing-room; come, you can follow me.”

“How disgracefully you have behaved, Miss Merton!” began Priscilla at once. “You cannot expect me ever to speak to you again, and I shall certainly tell Miss Heath.”

They were walking across the crowded drawing-room now. Rosalind turned and let her laughing eyes look full at Prissie.

“My dear Miss Peel, pray reserve any little scolding you intend to bestow upon me until we get out into the street, and please do not tread upon my dress!”