Prissie had never been in any place like St. Hilda’s before.  It had been one of her dreams to go to the cathedral at Exeter, but year after year this desire of hers had been put off and put off, and this was the first time in her life that she had ever listened to cathedral music.  She was impressed, delighted, but not overpowered.

“The organ is magnificent,” she said to herself, “but not grander than the sea.  The sea accompanies all the service at the dear little old church at home.”

People met and talked to one another in the green quadrangle outside the chapel.  Several other St. Benet girls had come to the afternoon service.  Among them was Miss Day and that fair, innocent-looking little girl, Rosalind Merton.

Miss Day and Miss Merton were together.  They were both stepping back to join Maggie and Prissie, when a tall, dark young man came hastily forward, bowed to Rosalind Merton, and, coming up to Maggie Oliphant, shook hands with her.

“I saw you in chapel,” he said.  “Are you coming to the Marshall’s to tea?”

“I am.  Let me introduce to you my friend, Miss Peel.  Miss Peel, this is Mr. Hammond.”

Hammond raised his hat to Prissie, said a courteous word to her and then turned to speak again to Maggie.

The three walked through the gates of the quadrangle and turned up the narrow, picturesque High Street.  It would soon be dusk; a wintry light was over everything.  Rosalind Merton and Miss Day followed behind.  Maggie, who was always absorbed with the present interest, did not heed or notice them, but Priscilla heard one or two ill-bred giggles.

She turned her head with indignation and received scornful glances from both girls.  The four met for a moment at a certain corner.  Maggie said something to Annie Day and introduced Mr. Hammond to her.  As she did so, Rosalind took the opportunity to come up to Priscilla and whisper to her: 

“You’re not wanted, you know.  You had much better come home with us.”

“What do you mean?” replied Prissie in her matter-of-fact voice.  “Miss Oliphant has asked me to go with her to the Marshalls’.”

“Oh, well—­ if you care to be in the——­” resumed Rosalind.

Maggie suddenly flashed round on her.

“Come, Miss Peel, we’ll be late,” she said.  “Goodby.”  She nodded to Rosalind; her eyes were full of an angry fire; she took Prissie’s hand and hurried down the street.

The two girls walked away, still giggling; a deep color mantled Maggie’s cheeks.  She turned and began to talk desperately to Mr. Hammond.  Her tone was flippant; her silvery laughter floated in the air.  Priscilla turned and gazed at her friend.  She was seeing Maggie in yet another aspect.  She felt bewildered.

The three presently reached a pleasant house standing in its own grounds.  They were shown into a large drawing-room, full of young people.  Mrs. Marshall, a pretty old lady, with white hair, came forward to receive them.  Maggie was swept away amid fervent embraces and handshakes to the other end of the room.  Mrs. Marshall saw that Priscilla looked frightened; she took her under her wing, sat down by her on a sofa and began to talk.