“Could any one who knew Annabel Lee care for the room without her?” asked one of the girls.  She had a common, not to say vulgar, face, but it wore a wistful expression as she uttered these words.

All this time Priscilla was standing, feeling utterly shy and miserable.  From time to time other girls came in; they nodded to her and then rushed upon their companions.  The eager talk began afresh, and always there were looks of regret and allusions, accompanied by sighs, to the girl who had lived in the room last.

“Well,” said one merry little girl, who was spoken to by the others as Ada Hardy, “I have no doubt that by and by, when Miss——­” She glanced toward Priscilla.

“Peel,” faltered Priscilla.

“When Miss Peel unpacks her trunk, she’ll make the room look very pretty, too.”

“She can’t,” said Miss Day in a tragic voice; “she never could make the room look at it used to—­ not if she was to live till the age of Methuselah.  Of course you’ll improve it, Miss Peel; you couldn’t possibly exist in it as it is now.”

“I can tell you of a capital shop in Kingsdene, Miss Peel,” said Miss Marsh, “where you can buy tables and chairs, and pretty artistic cloths, and little whatnots of all descriptions.  I’d advise you to go to Rigg’s.  He’s in the High Street, No. 48.”

“But Spilman has much the most recherche’ articles, you know, Lucy,” interposed Miss Day.  “I’ll walk over to Spilman’s to-morrow with you, if you like, Miss Peel.”

Before Priscilla had time to reply there was again a knock at the door, and this time Nancy Banister, looking flushed and pretty, came in.

She took in the scene at a glance; numbers of girls making themselves at home in Priscilla’s room, some seated on her trunk, some on her bureau, several curled up in comfortable attitudes on her bed and she herself standing, meek, awkward, depressed, near one of the windows.

“How tired you look, Miss Peel!” said Nancy Banister.

Priscilla smiled gratefully at her.

“And your trunk is not unpacked yet?”

“Oh! there is time enough,” faltered Priscilla.

“Are we in your way?” suddenly spoke Miss Marsh, springing to her feet.  “Good night.  My name is Marsh, my room is thirty-eight.”

She swung herself lazily and carelessly out of the room, followed, at longer or shorter intervals, by the other girls, who all nodded to Priscilla, told her their names and one or two the numbers of their rooms.  At last she was left alone with Nancy Banister.

“Poor thing!  How tired and white you look!” said Nancy.  “But now that dreadful martyrdom is over, you shall have a real cozy time.  Don’t you want a nice hot cup of cocoa?  It will be ready in a minute or two.  And please may I help you to unpack?”

“Thank you,” said Priscilla; her teeth were chattering.  “If I might have a fire?” she asked suddenly.

“Oh, you poor, shivering darling!  Of course.  Are there no matches here?  There were some on the mantel-piece before dinner.  No, I declare they have vanished.  How careless of the maid.  I’ll run into Maggie’s room and fetch some.”