But Maggie Oliphant’s clear, sweet voice interrupted them.

“Had we not better come into the house?” she said.  “The door has been open for quite half a minute.”

Poor Prissie rushed in first, covered with shame; Miss Field hastened after, to bear her company; and Hammond and Maggie brought up the rear.

CHAPTER XX

 A painter

The Marshalls were always at home to their friend on Friday afternoons, and there were already several guests in the beautiful, quaint old drawing-room when the quartet entered.  Mrs. Marshall, her white hair looking lovely under her soft lace cap, came forward to meet her visitors.  Her kind eyes looked with appreciation and welcome at one and all.  Blushing and shame-faced Prissie received a pleasant word of greeting, which seemed in some wonderful way to steady her nerves.  Hammond and Maggie were received as special and very dear friends, and Helen Marshall, the old lady’s pretty grand-daughter, rushed forward to embrace her particular friend, Constance Field.

Maggie felt sore; she scarcely knew why.  Her voice was bright, her eyes shining, her cheeks radiant in their rich and lovely bloom.  But there was a quality in her voice which Hammond recognized—­ a certain ring which meant defiance and which prophesied to those who knew her well that one of her bad half-hours was not very far off.

Maggie seated herself near a girl who was a comparative stranger and began to talk.  Hammond drew near and made a third in the conversation.  Maggie talked in the brilliant, somewhat reckless fashion which she occasionally adopted.  Hammond listened, now and then uttered a short sentence, now and then was silent, with disapproval in his eyes.

Maggie read their expression like a book.

“He shall be angry with me,” she said to herself.  Her words became a little wilder.  The sentiments she uttered were the reverse of those Hammond held.

Soon a few old friends came up.  They were jolly, merry, good-humored girls, who were all prepared to look up to Maggie Oliphant and to worship her beauty and cleverness if she would allow them.  Maggie welcomed the girls with effusion, let them metaphorically sit at her feet and proceeded to disenchant them as hard as she could.

Some garbled accounts of the auction at St. Benet’s had reached them, and they were anxious to get a full report from Miss Oliphant.  Did she not think it a scandalous sort of thing to have occurred?

“Not at all,” answered Maggie in her sweetest tones; “it was capital fun, I assure you.”

“Were you really there?” asked Miss Duncan, the eldest of the girls.  “We heard it, of course, bur could scarcely believe it possible.”

“Of course I was there,” replied Maggie.  “Whenever there is something really amusing going on, I am always in the thick of it.”

“Well!” Emily Duncan looked at her sister Susan.  Susan raised her brows.  Hammond took a photograph from a table which stood near and pretended to examine it.