When the bids rose above ten guineas Rosalind’s face assumed a ghastly hue, but she was now far too angry with Maggie to pause or consider the fact that she was offering more money for the pink coral than she possessed in the world.  The bids still went higher and higher.  There was intense excitement in the room; all the noisy babel ceased.  No sound was heard but the eager voices of the two who were cruelly fighting each other and the astonished tones of the young auctioneer.  Twelve, thirteen, fourteen pounds were reached.  Maggie’s bid was fourteen pounds.

“Guineas!” screamed Rose with a weak sort of gasp.

Maggie turned and looked at her, then walked slowly back to her place by Priscilla’s side.

The coral belonged to Rose Merton, and she had four guineas too little to pay for it.

CHAPTER XVIII

 A black self and A white self

“It is quite true, Maggie,” said Nancy Banister.  “It is about the auction.  Yes, there is no doubt about that.  What possessed you to go?”

Maggie Oliphant was standing in the center of her own room with an open letter in her hand.  Nancy was reading it over her shoulder: 

  Katharine hall,

  “Dec. 2.

  “Miss Eccleston and Miss Heath request Miss Oliphant and Miss Peel
  to present themselves in Miss Eccleston’s private sitting-room this
  evening at seven o’clock.”

“That is all,” said Maggie.  “It sounds as solemn and unfriendly as if one were about to be tried for some capital offense.”

“It’s the auction, of course,” repeated Nancy.  “Those girls thought they had kept it so quiet, but some one must have ‘peached,’ I suppose, to curry favor.  Whatever made you go, Maggie?  You know you have never mixed yourself up with that Day, and Merton, and Marsh set.  As to that poor Polly Singleton, there’s no harm in her, but she’s a perfect madcap.  What could have possessed you to go?”

“My evil genius,” repeated Maggie in a gloomy tone.  “You don’t suppose I wished to be there, Nancy; but that horrid little Merton girl said something taunting, and then I forgot myself.  Oh, dear, Nancy! what shall I ever do with that other self of mine?  It will ruin me in the end.  It gets stronger every day.”

Maggie sat down on the sofa.  Nancy suddenly knelt by her side.

“Dear Meg,” she said caressingly, “you’re the noblest, and the sweetest, and the most beautiful girl at St. Benet’s!  Why can’t you live up to your true self?”

“There are two selfs in me,” replied Maggie.  “And if one even approaches the faintest semblance of angel-hood, the other is black as pitch.  There, it only wastes time to talk the thing over.  I’m in for the sort of scrape I hate most.  See, Nancy, I bought this at the auction.”

She opened her wardrobe, and taking out Polly Singleton’s magnificent eighty-guinea sealskin jacket, slipped it on.