To tell the truth, my dear, I never
admired Priscilla more than I did last night. I encouraged her to give
up her classics for the present and to devote herself to modern
languages and to those accomplishments which are considered more
essentially feminine. As I did so I had a picture before me, in which
I saw Priscilla crowned with love, the support and blessing of her
three little sisters. The picture was a very bright one, Maggie, and
your crown of bay looks quite tawdry beside the other crown which I
hope to see on Prissie's brow."
Maggie rose from her chair. "Good night," she said.
"I am sorry to disappoint you, my love."
"I have no doubt you are right," said Maggie, "but," she added, "I
have not made up my mind, and I still long for Priscilla to wear the
crown of bay."
"You will win that crown yourself, my dear."
"Oh, no, it is not for me."
"I am very anxious about you, Maggie. Why do you speak in that
reckless tone? Your position and Prissie's are not the least alike: it
is your duty to do your very utmost with those talents which have been
bestowed upon you."
"Perhaps," answered Maggie, shrugging her shoulders, "but I am tired
of stretching out my hand like a baby to catch soap-bubbles. I cannot
speak of myself at all to-night, Miss Heath.
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