"Please sit down—no, not way off there! Won't you take this chair beside me? I'm rather an uncanny person, I warn you. If I do not like to have you close to me now, we could never get on—across the water! What belongs to me, and what I ought to have, is mine from the first. Besides, I want you to know the worst of me—for your own sake. Would you mind taking off your hat? You have the most cheerful hair I ever saw."
Priscilla laid her broad-brimmed hat aside and laughed lightly. She was as uncanny as Margaret Moffatt, but she could not have described the charm that drew her to the girl across the hearth.
"I'm rather a hopelessly cheerful person," she said, settling herself comfortably; "it's probably my chief virtue—or shortcoming."
"You know I am not a bit sick—bodily, Miss Glynn. It's positively ridiculous to have a nurse for me, but if I am to get my way with my father I must humour him. A dear old family servant is going with me. Father did want a private cook and guide, but we've compromised on—you! I do hope you'll undertake the contract. I'm not half bad when I have my way. Do you think, now that you have seen me for fifteen minutes, that you could—tolerate me; take the chance?"
"I should be very glad to be with you." Priscilla beamed.
"Your eyes are—blue, I declare! Miss Glynn, by all the laws of nature you should have eyes as dark as mine."
"Yes; an old nurse back in my Canadian home used to say I was made of the odds and ends of all the children my mother had and lost."
"What a quaint idea! I believe she was right, too. That will make you adaptable. Miss Glynn, let me tell you something, just enough to begin on, about myself—as a case. I'm tired to death of everything that has gone before; I do not fit in anywhere. I believe I'm quite a different person from what every one else believes; I've never had a chance to know myself; I've been interpreted by—by generations, traditions, and those who love me. I want to get far enough away to—get acquainted with myself, and then if I am what I hope I am, I will return like a happy queen and triumphantly enter my kingdom. If I am not worthy—well, we will not talk about that! Something, I may tell you some day, has suddenly awakened me. I'm rather blinded and deafened. I must have time. Can you bear with me?"
Margaret Moffatt leaned forward in her chair. Priscilla saw that her large brown eyes were tear-filled; the strong, white, outstretched hands trembling. A wave of sympathy, understanding, and great liking overwhelmed Priscilla, and she rose suddenly and stood beside the girl.
"I—think I was meant—to help you," she said so simply that she could not be misunderstood. "When do we—go?"