Maggie made a swift remark, a passing jest, and hurried past the two into the conservatory.

Priscilla could scarcely tell why, but at that moment she lost all interest in both ferns and flowers.  The look of misery on Maggie’s face seemed to strike her own heart like a chill.

“You look tired,” said Helen Marshall, who had not noticed Maggie’s tearful eyes.

“Perhaps I am,” answered Prissie.

They went back again into the drawing-room.  Prissie still could see nothing but Miss Oliphant’s eyes and the look of distress on her pale face.

Helen suddenly made a remark.

“Was there ever such a merry creature as Maggie?” she said.  “Do look at her now.”

Prissie raised her eyes.  Miss Oliphant was the center of a gay group, among whom Geoffrey Hammond stood.  Her laugh rang out clear and joyous; her smile was like sunshine, her cheeks had roses in them and her eyes were as bright as stars.

CHAPTER XI

 Conspirators

Annie day and her friend Rosalind ceased to laugh as soon as they turned the corner.  Annie now turned her eyes and fixed them on Rosalind, who blushed and looked uncomfortable.

“Well,” said Annie, “you are a humbug, Rose!  What a story you told me about Mr. Hammond—­ how he looked at you and was so anxious to make use of you.  Oh, you know all you said.  You told me a charming story about your position as gooseberry.’  You expected a little fun for yourself, didn’t you, my friend?  Well, it seems to me that if any one is to have the fun, it is Priscilla Peel.”

Rosalind had rather a nervous manner.  She bit her lips now; her baby-blue eyes looked angry, her innocent face wore a frown.  She dropped her hold of Annie Day’s arm.

Miss Day was one of the most commonplace girls at Heath Hall.  She had neither good looks nor talent; she had no refinement of nature nor had she those rugged but sterling qualities of honesty and integrity of purpose which go far to cover a multitude of other defects.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak to me in that way,” said Rosalind with a little gasp.  “I hate people to laugh at me, and I can’t stand sneers.”

“Oh, no! you’re such a dear little innocent baby.  Of course, I can quite understand.  And does she suppose I’ll ruffle her pretty little feathers?  No, not I. I’d rather invent a new cradle song for you, Rosie, dear.”

“Don’t, don’t!” said Rosalind.  “Look here, Annie, I must say something—­ yes, I must.  I hate Maggie Oliphant!”

“You hate Miss Oliphant?” Annie Day stood still, turned round and stared at her companion.  “When did this revolution take place, my dear?  What about Rose and Maggie sitting side by side at dinner?  And Rose creeping away all by herself to Maggie’s room and angling for an invitation to cocoa, and trying hard, very hard, to become a member of the Dramatic Society, just because Maggie acts so splendidly.  Has it not been Maggie—­ Maggie—­ ever since the term began, until we girls, who were not in love with this quite too charming piece of perfection, absolutely hated the sound of her name?  Oh, Rose, what a fickle baby you are.  I am ashamed of you!”