Her face
was now both eloquent and attractive, her eyes were bright, her words
terse and epigrammatic. She looked so different a girl from the cowed
and miserable little Prissie of an hour ago that Rosalind Merton as
she came up and tapped her on the shoulder, felt a pang of envy.
"I am sorry to interrupt you," she said, "but it is time for us to be
going home. Have you given Mr. Hammond his message?"
"What do you mean?" asked Priscilla. "I have not any message for Mr.
Hammond."
"You must have forgotten. Did not Miss Oliphant give you a letter for
him?"
"Certainly not. What do you mean?"
"I felt sure I saw her," said Rosalind. "I suppose I was mistaken.
Well, sorry as I am to interrupt a pleasant talk, I fear I must ask
you to come home with me now."
She raised her pretty baby eyes to Hammond's face as she spoke. He
absolutely scowled down at her, shook hands warmly with Priscilla and
turned away.
"Come and bid Mrs. Elliot-Smith good-by," said Rosalind, her eyes
still dancing. "She is at the other end of the drawing-room; come, you
can follow me."
"How disgracefully you have behaved, Miss Merton!" began Priscilla at
once. "You cannot expect me ever to speak to you again, and I shall
certainly tell Miss Heath.
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