Miss Banister was not a minute away.  She returned with a box of matches, and, stooping down, set a light to the wood, and a pleasant fire was soon blazing and crackling merrily.

“Now, isn’t that better?” said Nancy.  “Please sit down on your bed and give me the key of your trunk.  I’ll soon have the things out and put all to rights for you.  I’m a splendid unpacker.”

But Priscilla had no desire to have her small and meager wardrobe overhauled even by the kindest of St. Benet’s girls.

“I will unpack presently myself, if you don’t mind,” she said.  She felt full of gratitude, but she could not help an almost surly tone coming into her voice.

Nancy drew back, repulsed and distressed.

“Perhaps you would like me to go away?” she said.  “I will go into Maggie’s room and let you know when cocoa is ready.”

“Thank you,” said Prissie.  Miss Banister disappeared, and Priscilla sat on by the fire, unconscious that she had given any pain or annoyance, thinking with gratitude of Nancy, and with feelings of love of Maggie Oliphant, and wondering what her little sisters were doing without her at home to-night.

By and by there came a tap at her door.  Priscilla ran to open it.  Miss Oliphant stood outside.

“Won’t you come in?” said Priscilla, throwing the door wide open and smiling with joy.  It was already delightful to her to look at Maggie.  “Please come in,” she added in a tone almost of entreaty.

Maggie Oliphant started and turned pale.  “Into that room?  No, no, I can’t,” she said in a queer voice.  She rushed back to her own, leaving Priscilla standing in amazement by her open door.

There was a moment’s silence.  Then Miss Oliphant’s voice, rich, soft and lazy, was heard within the shelter of her own apartment.

“Please come in, Miss Peel; cocoa awaits you.  Do not stand on ceremony.”

Priscilla went timidly across the landing, and the instant found herself in one of the prettiest of the students’ rooms at St. Benet’s.  A few rare prints and some beautiful photogravures of well-known pictures adorned the walls.  The room was crowded with knick-knacks and rendered gay and sweet by many tall flowers in pots.  A piano stood open by one of the walls and a violin lay carelessly on a chair not far off.  There were piles of new music and some tempting, small, neatly bound books lying about.  A fire glowed on the hearth and a little brass kettle sang merrily on the hob.  The cocoa-table was drawn up in front of the fire and on a quaintly shaped tray stood the bright little cocoa-pot and the oddly devised cups and saucers.

“Welcome to St. Benet’s!” said Maggie, going up and taking Priscilla’s hand cordially within her own.  “Now you’ll have to get into this low chair and make yourself quite at home and happy.”

“How snug you are here,” said Prissie, her eyes brightening and a pink color mounting into her cheeks.  She was glad that Maggie was alone; she felt more at ease with her than with any one, but the next moment she said with a look of apparent regret: