Priscilla had choked over her soup, and was making poor way with the
fish that followed, when suddenly a sweet, low voice addressed her.
"This is your first evening at St. Benet's," said the voice. "I hope
you will be happy. I know you will, after a little."
Priscilla turned and met the full gaze of lovely eyes, brown like a
nut, soft and deep as the thick pile of velvet, and yet with a latent
flash and glow in them which gave them a red, half-wild gleam now and
then. The lips that belonged to this face were slightly parted in a
smile; the smile and the expression in the eyes stole straight down
with a glow of delicious comfort into Priscilla's heart.
"Thank you," she said in her stiff, wooden tone; but her eyes did not
look stiff, and the girl began to talk again.
"I believe my room is next to yours. My name is Oliphant-- Margaret
Oliphant, but every one calls me Maggie. That is, of course, I mean my
friends do. Would you like to come into my room and let me tell you
some of the rules?"
"Thank you," said Priscilla again. She longed to add, "I should love
beyond words to come into your room"; but instead she remarked icily,
"I think Miss Heath has given me printed rules."
"Oh, you have seen our dear Dorothea-- I mean Miss Heath.
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