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 rig............