" And she
got up, prepared to leave the room.
The ladies, who had been gossiping at her side, turned at the sound of
her agitation. They saw a plain, badly dressed girl, with a frock
conveniently short for the muddy streets, but by no means in tone with
her present elegant surroundings, standing up and contradicting, or at
least appearing to contradict, Geoffrey Hammond, one of the best known
men at St. Hilda's, a Senior Wrangler, too. What did this gauche girl
mean? Most people were deferential to Hammond, but she seemed to be
scolding him.
Prissie for the time being became more interesting even than the
winter fashions. The ladies drew a step or two nearer to enjoy the
little comedy.
Priscilla noticed no one, but Hammond felt these good ladies in the
air. His cheeks burned and he wished himself well out of his present
position.
"If you will sit down, Miss Peel," he said in a low, firm voice, "I
think I can give you good reasons for not rushing away in this
headlong fashion."
"Well, what are they?" said Prissie. Hammond's voice had a
sufficiently compelling power to make her sit down once more on her
window-ledge.
"Don't you think," he said, seating himself in front of her, "that we
may as well keep this discussion to ourselves?"
"Oh, yes; was I speaking too loud? I wouldn't vex you for anything.
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