A Sweet Girl Graduate

“But if Miss Eccleston finds out?” said Miss Day.

“What if she does? There’s no rule against auctions, and, as I don’t suppose any of you will have one, it isn’t worth making a rule for me alone. Anyhow, I’m resolved to risk it. My auction will be on Monday, and I shall make out an inventory of my goods to-morrow.”

“Will you advertise it on the notice-board in your hall, dear?” asked Lucy Marsh.

“Why not? A good idea! The great A. will be held in Miss Singleton’s room, from eight to ten o’clock on the evening of Monday next. Great Bargains! Enormous Sacrifice! Things absolutely given away! Oh, what fun! I’ll be my own auctioneer.”

Polly lay back in her armchair, and laughed loudly.

“What is all this noise about?” asked a refined little voice, and Rosalind Merton entered the room.

Two or three girls jumped up at once to greet her.

“Come in, Rosie; you’re just in time. What do you think Miss Singleton is going to do now?”

“I can’t tell; what?” asked Rosalind. “Something outré, I feel certain.”

Polly made a wry face, and winked her eyes at her companions.

“I know I’m not refined enough for you, Miss Merton,” she drawled. “I’m rough, like my dad, rough and ready; but, at any rate, I’m honest – at least, I think I’m honest. When I owe money, I don’t leave a stone unturned to pay what I owe. Having sinned, I repent. I enter the Valley of Humiliation, and give up all: who can do more?”

“Oh, dear, Polly, I don’t think I’d call owing a little money, sinning,” said Lucy Marsh, whose ideas were known to be somewhat lax.

“Well, my dear, there’s nothing for those in debt but to sell their possessions. My auction is on Monday. Will you come, Rosalind?”

“You don’t mean it?” said Rose, her blue eyes beginning to sparkle.

“Yes, I do, absolutely and truly mean it.”

“And you will sell your things – your lovely things?”

“My things, my lovely, lovely things must be sold.”

“But not your clothes? Your new sealskin jacket, for instance?”

Polly made a wry face for a moment. Putting her hand into her pocket she pulled out Spilman’s and Madame Clarice’s two bills.

“I owe a lot,” she said, looking with a rueful countenance at the sum total. “Yes, I even fear the sealskin must go. I don’t want to part with it; dad gave it me just before I came here.”

“It’s a lovely seal,” said Annie Day, “and it seems a sin to part with it; it’s cut in the most stylish way too, with those high shoulders.”

“Don’t praise it, please,” said Polly, lying back in her chair, and covering her eyes with her hand. “It cuts like a knife to part with dad’s last present. Well, I’m rightly punished. What a fool I was to get all those Japanese things from Spilman, and that fancy ball-dress for the theatricals. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!”

“Perhaps you won’t want to part with your seal, dear,” said Lucy, who was not so greedy as some of the other girls, and really pitied Polly. “You have so many beautiful things without that, that you will be sure to realise a good bit of money.”

“No, Lucy, I owe such a lot; the seal must go. Oh, what a worry it is!”

“And at auctions of this kind,” said Rosalind, in her low voice, “even beautiful things don’t realise much. How can they?”

“Rosalind is after that seal,” whispered Lucy to Annie Day.

“The seal would swallow you up, Rosie,” said Annie, in a loud voice. “Don’t aspire to it; you’d never come out alive.”

“The seal can be brought to know good manners,” retorted Rose, angrily. “His size can be diminished, and his strength abated. But I have not said that I want him at all. You do so jump to conclusions, Miss Day.”

“I know what I want,” said a girl called Hetty Jones, who had not yet spoken: “I’m going in for some of Polly’s ornaments. You won’t put too big a price upon your corals, will you, Poll?”

“I shall bid for your American rocking-chair, Polly,” exclaimed Miss Day.

“I tell you what you must do, Miss Singleton,” shouted another girl, “you must get those inventories ready as soon as possible, and send them round the college for everyone to read, for you have got such nice things that there will be sure to be a great rush at your auction.”

“Don’t sell any of the college possessions by mistake, my dear,” said Lucy Marsh. “You would get into trouble then. Indeed, as it is, I don’t see how you are to keep out of it.”

Polly pushed her hands impatiently through her bright red hair.

“Who’s afraid?” she said, and laughed.

“When are we to see your things, Polly?” asked Miss Jones. “If the auction is on Monday, there must be a show day, when we can all go round and inspect. I know that’s always done at auctions, for I’ve been at several in the country. The show day is the best fun of all. The farmers’ wives come and pinch the feather-beds between their thumbs and forefingers, and hold the blankets up to the light to see if the moths have got in.”

“Hetty, how vulgar!” interposed Miss Day. “What has Polly’s auction of her recherché things to do with blankets and feather-beds? Now the cocoa is ready. Who will help me to carry the cups round?”

“I had some fun to-day,” said Rosalind, when each of the girls, provided with their cups of cocoa, sat round and began to sip. “I took Miss Propriety to town with me.”

“Oh, did you, darling? Do tell us all about it!” said Annie Day, running up to Rosalind and taking her hand.

“There isn’t much to tell. She behaved as I expected; her manners are not graceful, but she’s a deep one.”

“Anybody can see that who looks at her,” remarked Lucy Marsh.

“We went to the Elliot-Smiths’,” continued Rosalind.

“Good gracious, Rosie!” interrupted Hetty Jones. “You don’t mean to say you took Propriety to that house?”

“Yes; why not? It’s the jolliest house in Kingsdene.”

“But fancy taking poor Propriety there. What did she say?”

“Say? She scolded a good deal.”

“Scolded! Poor little proper thing! How I should have liked to have seen her. Did she open her purse, and exhibit its emptiness to the company at large? Did she stand on a chair and lecture the frivolous people who assemble in that house on the emptiness of life? Oh, how I wish I could have looked on at the fun!”

“You’d have beheld an edifying sight then, my dear,” said Rosalind. “Prissie’s whole behaviour was one to be copied. No words can describe her tact and grace.”

“But what did she do, Rosie? I wish you would speak out and tell us. You know you are keeping something back.”

“Whenever she saw me she scolded me, and she tripped over my dress several times.”

“Oh, you dear, good, patient Rosalind, what a bore she must have been.”

“No, she wasn’t, for I scarcely saw anything of her. She amused herself capitally without me, I can tell you.”

“Amused herself? Propriety amused herself? How diverting! Could she stoop to it?”

“She did. She stooped and – conquered. She secured for herself an adorer.”

“Rosalind, how absurd you are! Poor, Plain Propriety!”

“As long as I live I shall hate the letter P,” suddenly interrupted Annie Day, “for since that disagreeable girl has got into the house we are always using it.”

“Never mind, Rosalind; go on with your story,” said Miss Jones. “What did Plain Propriety do?” Rosalind threw up her hands, rolled her eyes skywards, and uttered the terse remark —

“She flirted!”

“Oh, Rosie! who would flirt with her? I suppose she got hold of some old rusty, musty don. But then I do not suppose you’d find that sort of man at the Elliot-Smiths’.”

This remark came from Lucy Marsh. Rosalind Merton, who was leaning her fair head against a dark velvet cushion, looked as if she enjoyed the situation immensely.

“What do you say to a Senior Wrangler?” she asked, in a gentle voice.

“Rosalind, what – not the Senior Wrangler?” Rosalind nodded.

“Oh! oh! oh! what could he see – Geoffrey Hammond, of all people! He’s so exclusive, too.”

“Well,” said Hetty Jones, standing up reluctantly, for she felt it was time to return to her neglected studies, “wonders will never cease! I could not have supposed that Mr Hammond would condescend to go near the Elliot-Smiths’, and most certainly I should never have guessed that he would look at a girl like Priscilla Peel.”

“Well, he flirted with her,” said Rosalind, “and she with him. They were so delighted with one another that I could scarcely get Prissie away when it was time to leave. They looked quite engrossed – you know the kind of air – there was no mistaking it!”

“Miss Peel must have thanked you for taking her.”

“Thanked me? That’s not Miss Prissie’s style. I could see she was awfully vexed at being disturbed.”

“Well, it’s rather shabby,” said Polly Singleton, speaking for the first time. “Everyone at St. Benet’s knows to whom Mr Hammond belongs.”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course,” cried several voices.

“And Maggie has been so kind to Miss Peel,” continued Polly.

“Yes – shame! – how mean of little Propriety!” the voices echoed again.

Rosalind gave a meaning glance at Annie Day. Annie raised her eyebrows, looked interrogative, then her face subsided into a satisfied expression. She asked no further questions, but she gave Rosalind an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

Soon the other girls came up one by one to say good-night. Rosalind, Annie, and Lucy were alone. They drew their chairs together, and began to talk.

Chapter Sixteen

Pretty Little Rosalind

“I have done it now,” said Rosalind; “the estrangement will come about naturally. Propriety won’t head a party at this college, for she will not have Miss Oliphant’s support. My dear girls, we need do nothing further. The friendship we regretted is at an end.”

“Did you take Priscilla Peel to the Elliot-Smiths’ on purpose, then?” asked Miss Day.

“I took her there for my own purposes,” replied Rosalind. “I wanted to go. I could not go alone, as it is against our precious rules. It was not convenient for any of my own special friends to come with me, so I thought I’d play Prissie a nice little trick. Oh, wasn’t she angry! My dear girls, it was as good as a play to watch her face.”

Rosalind lay back in her chair and laughed heartily. Her laughter was as melodious as the sound of silver bells.

“Well,” said Miss Marsh, after a pause, “I wish you would stop laughing and go on with your story, Rose.”

Rosalind resumed her grave deportment.

“That’s all,” she said; “there’s nothing, more to tell.”

“Did you know, then, that Mr Hammond would be there?”

“No, I had not the least idea that piece of luck would fall in my way. Meta managed that for me most delightfully. You know, girls, how earnestly the poor dear Elliot-Smiths aspire, and how vain are their efforts, to get into what we are pleased to call the ‘good set’ here. It isn’t their fault, poor things, for, though they really have no talent nor the smallest literary desires, they would give their eyes to be ‘hail-fellows-well-met’ with some of our intellectual giants. Well, Meta got to know Mr Hammond at a tennis party in the summer, and when she met him last week she asked him to come to her house to-day. She told me she was dying to have him, of course, but when she asked him she could see by his face and manner that he was searching his brains for an excuse to get out of it. All of a sudden it flashed into her head to say, ‘Some of our friends from St. Benet’s will be present.’ The moment she said this he changed, and got very polite, and said he would certainly look in for a little while. Poor Meta was so delighted! You can fancy her chagrin when he devoted himself all the time to Prissie.”

“He thought he’d meet Maggie Oliphant,” said Annie Day; “it was a shame to lure him on with a falsehood. I don’t wonder at people not respecting the Elliot-Smiths.”

“My dear,” responded Rosalind, “Meta did not tell a lie. I never could have guessed that you were strait-laced, Annie.”

“Nor am I,” responded Annie, with a sigh, which she quickly suppressed.

“The whole thing fitted in admirably with our wishes,” continued Rose, “and now we need not do anything further in the matter. Rumour, in the shape of Hetty Jones’s tongue, and Polly Singleton’s hints, will do the rest for us.”

“Do you really think that Maggie Oliphant cares for Mr Hammond?” asked Lucy Marsh.

“Cares for him!” said Rosalind. “Does a duck swim? Does a baby like sweet things? Maggie is so much in love with Mr Hammond that she’s almost ill about it – there!”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the other two girls.

“She is, I know she is. She treats him shamefully, because of some whim of hers. I only wish she may never get him.”

“He’d do nicely for you, wouldn’t he, Rose?” said Annie Day.

A delicate pink came into Rosalind’s cheeks. She rose to leave the room.

“Mr Hammond is not in my style,” she said. “Much too severe and too learned. Good-night, girls. I must look over the notes of that wretched French lecture before I go to bed.”

Rosalind sought her own room, which was in another corridor. It was late now – past eleven o’clock. The electric light had been put out. She was well supplied with candles, however, and lighting two on the mantelpiece and two on her bureau, she proceeded to stir up her fire and to make her room warm and cosy.

Rosalind still wore the pretty light silk which had given her such an elegant appearance at the Elliot-Smiths’ that afternoon. Securing the bolt of her door, she pushed aside a heavy curtain, which concealed the part of her room devoted to her wardrobe, washing apparatus, etc. Rosalind’s wardrobe had a glass door, and she could see her petite figure in it from head to foot. It was a very small figure, but exquisitely proportioned. Its owner admired it much. She turned herself round, took up a hand-glass, and surveyed herself in profile, and many other positions. Then, taking off her pretty dress, she arrayed herself in a long white muslin dressing-robe, and letting down her golden hair, combed out the glittering masses. They fell in showers below her waist. Her face looked more babyish and innocent than ever as it smiled to its own fair image in the glass.

“How he did scowl at me!” said Rosalind, suddenly speaking aloud. “But I had to say it. I was determined to find out for myself how much or how little he cares for Maggie Oliphant, and, alas! there’s nothing of the ‘little’ in his affection. Well, well! I did not do badly to-day. I enjoyed myself, and I took a nice rise out of that disagreeable Miss Peel. Now must I look through those horrid French notes? Need I?” She pirouetted on one toe in front of the glass. The motion exhilarated her, and, raising her white wrapper so as to get a peep at her small, pretty feet, she waltzed slowly and gracefully in front of the mirror.

“I can’t and won’t study to-night,” she said again. “I hate study, and I will not spoil my looks by burning the midnight oil.”

Suddenly she clasped her hands, and the colour rushed into her cheeks.

“How fortunate that I remembered! I must write to mother this very night. This is Thursday. The auction is on Monday. I have not a post to lose.”

Hastily seating herself in front of her bureau, Rosalind scribbled a few lines: —

“Dearest, Precious Mamsie —

“Whatever happens, please send me a postal order for 10 pounds by return. One of the richest girls in the place is going to have an auction, and I shall pick up some treasures. If you could spare 15 pounds, or even 20 pounds, the money would be well spent, but ten at least I must have. There is a sealskin jacket, which cost at least eighty pounds, and such coral ornaments – you know, that lovely pink shade. Send me all you can, precious mamsie, and make your Baby happy.

“Your own little Rose.

“P.S. – Oh, mamsie, such a sealskin! and such coral!”

This artless epistle was quickly enclosed in an envelope, addressed, and deposited in the post-box. Afterwards pretty little Rosalind spent a night of dreamless slumber, and awoke in the morning as fresh and innocent-looking as the fairest of the babies she compared herself to.

Chapter Seventeen

Sealskin and Pink Coral

Monday arrived. It wanted now less than three weeks to the end of the term. A good many girls were talking about home and Christmas, and already the hard-worked, the studious, the industrious were owning to the first symptoms of that pleasant fatigue which would entitle them to the full enjoyment of their merited holiday.

Priscilla was now a happy girl. She had found her niche in the college; her work was delightful. Under Maggie’s advice she became a member of the Debating Society, and rather reluctantly allowed her name to be entered in the Dramatic Club. She felt very shy about this, but that was because she did not know her own power. To her astonishment, Priscilla found that she could act. If the part suited her she could throw herself into it so that she ceased to be awkward, ungainly Priscilla Peel. Out of herself she was no longer awkward, no longer ungainly. She could only personate certain characters; light and airy parts she could not attempt, but where much depended on passion and emotion Priscilla could do splendidly. Every day her friends found fresh points of interest in this queer girl. Nancy Banister was really attached to her, Maggie was most faithful in her declared friendship, and Miss Heath took more notice of Priscilla than of any other girl in the Hall. The different lecturers spoke highly of Miss Peel’s comprehension, knowledge, and ability. In short, things were going well with her, and she owned to her own heart that she had never felt happier in her life.

Prissie, too, was looking forward to the Christmas holidays. She was to return home then, and her letters to her three little sisters, to Aunt Raby, and to Mr Hayes were full of the delights of her college life.

No one could have been more angry than poor Prissie during that miserable time at the Elliot-Smiths’. Many complaints did she resolve to make, and dire was the vengeance which she hoped would fall on Rose’s devoted head. But, during her talk with Mr Hammond, some of her anger had cooled down. He had touched on great subjects, and Prissie’s soul had responded like a musical instrument to the light and skilled finger of the musician. All her intellectual powers were aroused to their utmost, keenest life during this brief little talk. She found that Hammond could say better and more comprehensive things than even her dear old tutor, Mr Hayes. Hammond was abreast of the present-day aspect of those things in which Prissie delighted. Her short talk with him made up for all the tedium of the rest of that wretched afternoon.

On her walk home Priscilla made up her mind to have nothing further to say to Rose, but also not to make a complaint about her. She would pass the matter over in silence. If questioned, she would tell her own friends where she had been; if not questioned, she would volunteer no information.

Maggie and Nancy did ask her casually what had kept her out so long.

“I was at the Elliot-Smiths’ with Miss Merton,” replied Priscilla.

They both started when she said this, and looked at her hard. They were too well-bred, however, to give utterance to the many comments which crowded to their lips. Prissie read their thoughts like a book.

“I did not like it at all,” she said; “but I’d rather say nothing about it, please. After Mr Hammond came I was happy.”

“Mr Hammond was there?” said Nancy, in an eager voice. “Geoffrey Hammond was at the Elliot-Smiths’? Impossible!”

“He was there,” repeated Prissie. She glanced nervously at Maggie, who had taken up a book, and was pretending to read. “He came, and he spoke to me. He was very, very kind, and he made me so happy.”

“Dear Prissie,” said Maggie, suddenly. She got up, went over to the young girl, tapped her affectionately on the shoulder, and left the room.

Prissie sat, looking thoughtfully before her. After a time she bade Nancy Banister “Good-night,” and went off to her own room to study the notes she had taken that morning at the French lecture.

The next few days passed without anything special occurring. If a little rumour were already beginning to swell in the air, it scarcely reached the ears of those principally concerned. Maggie Oliphant continued to make a special favourite of Miss Peel. She sat near her at breakfast, and at the meetings of the Dramatic Society was particularly anxious to secure a good part for Prissie. The members of the society intended to act The Princess before the end of the term, and as there was a great deal to work up, and many rehearsals were necessary, they met in the little theatre on most evenings.

Maggie Oliphant had been unanimously selected to take the part of the Princess. She electrified everyone by drawing Miss Peel towards her, and saying in an emphatic voice —

“You must be the Prince, Priscilla.”

A look of dismay crept over several faces. One or two made different proposals.

“Would not Nancy Banister take the part better, Maggie?” said Miss Claydon, a tall, graceful girl, who was to be Psyche.

“No; Nancy is to be Cyril. She sings well, and can do the part admirably. Miss Peel must be the Prince: I will have no other lover. What do you say, Miss Peel?”

“I cannot; it is impossible,” almost whispered Prissie.

”‘Cannot’ is a word which must not be listened to in our Dramatic Society,” responded Maggie. “I promise to turn you out a most accomplished Prince, my friend; no one shall be disappointed in you. Girls, do you leave this matter in my hands? Do you leave the Prince to me?”

“We cannot refuse you the privilege of choosing your own Prince, Princess,” said Miss Claydon, with a graceful curtsy.

The others assented, but unwillingly. Miss Oliphant was known to be more full of whims than anyone else in the college. Her extraordinary and sudden friendship for Prissie was regarded as her latest caprice.

Rosalind Merton was not a particularly good actress, but her face was too pretty not to be called into requisition. She was to take the part of Melissa.

The society had a grand meeting on the day of Polly Singleton’s auction. Matters were still very much in a state of chaos, but the rehearsal of some of the parts was got through with credit under the directions of the clever stage-manager, one of the nicest and best girls in the college, Constance Field. She had a knack of putting each girl at her ease – of discovering the faintest sparks of genius, and fanning them into flame.

Priscilla had learned her speeches accurately: her turn came; she stood up trembling and began. Gradually the stony (or was it yearning?) look in Maggie’s face moved her. She fancied herself Hammond, not the Prince. When she spoke to Maggie she felt no longer like a feeble school-girl acting a part. She thought she was pleading for Hammond, and enthusiasm got into her voice, and a light filled her eyes. There was a little cheer when Priscilla got through her first rehearsal. Nancy Banister came up to Rosalind.

“I do believe Maggie is right,” she said, “and that Miss Peel will take the part capitally.”

“Miss Oliphant is well-known for her magnanimity,” retorted Rosalind, an ugly look spoiling the expression of her face.

“Her magnanimity? What do you mean, Rose?”

“To choose that girl for her Prince!” retorted Rosalind. “Ask Mr Hammond what I mean. Ask the Elliot-Smiths.”

“I don’t know the Elliot-Smiths,” said Nancy, in a cold voice. She turned away; she felt displeased and annoyed.

Rose glanced after her; then she ran up to Maggie Oliphant, who was preparing to leave the little theatre.

“Don’t you want to see the auction?” she said, in a gay voice. “It’s going to be the best fun we have had for many a long day.”

Maggie turned and looked at her.

“The auction? What auction do you mean?” she asked.

“Why, Polly Singleton’s, of course. You’ve not heard of it? It’s the event of the term!”

Maggie laughed.

“You must be talking nonsense, Rose,” she said. “An auction at St. Benet’s! A real auction? Impossible!”

“No, it’s not impossible. It’s true. Polly owes for a lot of things, and she’s going to pay for them in that way. Did you not get a notice? Polly declared she would send, one without fail to every girl in the college.”

“Now I remember,” said Miss Oliphant, laughing. “I got an extraordinary type-written production. I regarded it as a hoax, and consigned it to the waste-paper basket.”