Maggie rose from her chair.  “Good night,” she said.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, my love.”

“I have no doubt you are right,” said Maggie, “but,” she added, “I have not made up my mind, and I still long for Priscilla to wear the crown of bay.”

“You will win that crown yourself, my dear.”

“Oh, no, it is not for me.”

“I am very anxious about you, Maggie.  Why do you speak in that reckless tone?  Your position and Prissie’s are not the least alike:  it is your duty to do your very utmost with those talents which have been bestowed upon you.”

“Perhaps,” answered Maggie, shrugging her shoulders, “but I am tired of stretching out my hand like a baby to catch soap-bubbles.  I cannot speak of myself at all to-night, Miss Heath.  Thank you for what you have said, and again good night.”

Maggie had scarcely left the room before Priscilla appeared.

“Are you too tired to see me to-night, Miss Heath?”

“No, my love; come in and sit down.  I was sorry to miss you this morning.”

“But I am glad as it turned out,” replied Priscilla.

“You were in great trouble, Prissie.  The servant told me how terribly upset you were.”

“I was.  I felt nearly mad.”

“But you look very happy now.”

“I am; my trouble has all vanished away.  It was a great bogie.  As soon as I came boldly up to it, it vanished into smoke.”

“Am I to hear the name of the bogie?”

“I think I would rather not tell you—­ at least not now.  If Maggie thinks it right, she will speak to you about it; but, as far as I am concerned, it cannot touch me again.”

“Why have you come to see me then to-night, Priscilla?”

“I want to speak about Maggie.”

“What about her?  She has just been here to speak of you.”

“Has she?”

“It is possible that she may make you a proposition which will affect your whole future, but I am not at liberty to say any more.  Have you a proposition to make about her?”

“I have, and it will affect all Maggie’s life.  It will make her so good—­ so very, very happy.  Oh, Miss Heath! you ought to do it:  you ought to make her marry Mr. Hammond at once.”

“My dear Priscilla!” Miss Heath’s face turned crimson.  “Are you alluding to Geoffrey Hammond?  I know great friends of his; he is one of the cleverest men at St. Hilda’s.”

“Yes, and one of the best,” pursued Prissie, clasping her hands and speaking in that excited way which she always did when quite carried out of herself.  “You don’t know how good he is, Miss Heath.  I think he is one of the best of men.  I would do anything in the world for him—­ anything.”

“Where have you met him, Priscilla?”

“At the Marshalls’, and once at the Elliot-Smiths’, and to-day, when I was so miserable, when the bogie ran after me, you know, at St. Hilda’s, just outside the chapel.  Mr. Hammond asked me to come to the service, and I went, and afterward he chased the bogie away.  Oh, he is good, he is kind and he loves Maggie with all his heart.  He has loved her for a long time, I am sure, but she is never nice to him.”