“Then, of course,” said Miss Heath, “if Miss Oliphant does not care for Mr. Hammond, there is an end of the matter.  You are a very innocent and very young girl, Priscilla; but this is a subject in which you have no right to interfere.  Far from me to say that I disapprove of marriage for our students, but, while at St. Benet’s, it is certainly best for them to give their attention to other matters.”

“For most of us,” replied Prissie, “but not for Maggie.  No one in the college thinks Maggie happy.”

“That is true,” replied Miss Heath thoughtfully.

“And every one knows,” pursued Prissie, “that Mr. Hammond loves her.”

“Do they?  I was not aware that such reports had got abroad.”

“Oh, yes:  all Maggie’s friends know that, but they are so dreadfully stupid they cannot guess the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“That dear Maggie is breaking her heart on account of Mr. Hammond.”

“Then you think she loves him?”

“I do—­ I know it.  Oh, won’t you do something to get them to marry each other?”

“My dear child, these are subjects in which neither you nor I can interefere.”

“Oh!” Prissie’s eyes filled with sudden tears.  “If you won’t do anything, I must.”

“I don’t see what you can do, Priscilla; I don’t know what you have a right to do.  We do not care that our students should think of love and courtship while here, but we have never limited their freedom in the matter.  If Miss Oliphant cares for Mr. Hammond, and he cares for her, they know perfectly that they can become engaged.  Miss Oliphant will be leaving St. Benet’s at the end of the summer term.  She is completely, in every sense of the word, her own mistress.”

“Oh, no, she is not her own mistress, she is oppressed by a bogie.  I don’t know the name of the bogie, or anything about it; but it is shadowing all Maggie’s life; it is taking the sunshine away from her, and it is making it impossible for her to marry Mr. Hammond.  They are both so fond of each other; they have both noble hearts, but the dreadful bogie spoils everything—­ it keeps them apart.  Dear Miss Heath, I want you to come and kill the bogie.”

“I must find out its name first,” said Miss Heath.

CHAPTER XXIX

 At the Elliot-Smiths party

Rosalind Merton had been in the wildest spirits all day; she had laughed with the gayest, joined in all the games, thrown herself heart and soul into every project which promised fun, which gave a possibility for enjoyment.  Rosalind’s mood might have been described as reckless.  This was not her invariable condition.  She was a girl who, with all her gay spirits, took life with coolness.  She was not given to over-excitement; her nerves were too well balanced for anything of this kind.

To-day, however, something seemed wrong with these equable nerves of hers:  she could not keep still; her voice was never quiet; her laugh was constant.  Once or twice she saw Annie Day’s eyes fixed upon her; she turned from their glance; a more brilliant red than usual dyed her cheeks; her laugh grew louder and more insolent.