IT was long past the tea-hour at Heath Hall when Maggie Oliphant and Priscilla started on their walk home. The brightness and gaiety of the merry party at the Marshalls' had increased as the moments flew on. Even Priscilla had caught something of the charm. The kindly spirit which animated every one seemed to get into her. She first became interested, then she forgot herself. Prissie was no longer awkward; she began to talk, and when she liked she could talk well.

As the two girls were leaving the house Geoffrey Hammond put in a sudden appearance.

"I will see you home," he said to Maggie.

"No, no, you mustn't," she answered; her tone was vehement. She forgot Prissie's presence and half turned her back on her.

"How unkind you are!" said the young man in a low tone.

"No, Geoffrey, but I am struggling— you don't know how hard I am struggling— to be true to myself."

"You are altogether mistaken in your idea of truth," said Hammond, turning and walking a little way by her side.

"I am not mistaken— I am right."

"Well, at least allow me to explain my side of the question."

"No, it cannot be; there shall be no explanations, I am resolved. Good night, you must not come any further."

She held out her hand. Hammond took it limply between his own.

"You are very cruel," he murmured in the lowest of voices.

He raised his hat, forgot even to bow to Priscilla, and hurried off down a side street.

Maggie walked on a little way. Then she turned and looked down the street where he had vanished. Suddenly she raised her hand to her lips, kissed it and blew the kiss after the figure which had already disappeared. She laughed excitedly when she did this, and her whole face was glowing with a beautiful color.

Prissie, standing miserable and forgotten by the tall, handsome girl's side, could see the light in her eyes and the glow on her cheeks in the lamplight.

"I am here," said Priscilla at last in a low, half-frightened voice. "I am sorry I am here, but I am. I heard what you said to Mr. Hammond. I am sorry I heard."

Maggie turned slowly and looked at her. Prissie returned her gaze. Then, as if further words were wrung from her against her will, she continued:

"I saw the tears in your eyes in the fern-house at the Marshalls'. I am very sorry, but I did see them."

"My dear Prissie!" said Maggie. She went up suddenly to the girl, put her arm round her neck and kissed her.

"Come home now," she said, drawing Prissie's hand through her arm. "I don't think I greatly mind your knowing," she said after a pause. "You are true; I see it in your face. You would never tell again— you would never make mischief."

"Tell again! Of course not." Prissie's words came out with great vigor.

"I know you would not, Priscilla; may I call you Priscilla?"

"Yes."

"Will you be my friend and shall I be your friend?"

"If you would," said Prissie. "But you don't mean it. It is impossible that you can mean it. I'm not a bit like you— and— and— you only say these things to be kind."

"What do you mean, Priscilla?"

"I must tell you," said Prissie, turning very pale. "I heard what you said to Miss Banister the night I came to the college."

"What I said to Miss Banister? What did I say?"

"Oh, can't you remember? The words seemed burnt into me: I shall never forget them. I had left my purse in the dining-hall, and I was going to fetch it. Your door was a little open. I heard my name, and I stopped— yes, I did stop to listen."

"Oh, what a naughty, mean little Prissie! You stopped to listen. And what did you hear? Nothing good, of course? The bad thing was said to punish you for listening."

"I heard," said Priscilla, her own cheeks crimson now, "I heard you say that it gave you an aesthetic pleasure to be kind, and that was why you were good to me."

Maggie felt her own color rising.

"Well, my dear," she said, "it still gives me an aesthetic pleasure to be kind. You could not expect me to fall in love with you the moment I saw you. I was kind to you then, perhaps, for the reason I stated. It is very different now."

"It was wrong of you to be kind to me for that reason."

"Wrong of me? What an extraordinary girl you are, Priscilla— why was it wrong of me?"

"Because I learned to love you. You were gentle to me and spoke courteously when others were rude and only laughed; my whole heart went out to you when you were so sweet and gentle and kind. I did not think— I could not possibly think— that you were good just because it gave you a sort of selfish p............