The next few days passed without anything special occurring. If a little rumour were already beginning to swell in the air, it scarcely reached the ears of those principally concerned. Maggie Oliphant continued to make a special favourite of Miss Peel. She sat near her at breakfast, and at the meetings of the Dramatic Society was particularly anxious to secure a good part for Prissie. The members of the society intended to act The Princess before the end of the term, and as there was a great deal to work up, and many rehearsals were necessary, they met in the little theatre on most evenings.
Maggie Oliphant had been unanimously selected to take the part of the Princess. She electrified everyone by drawing Miss Peel towards her, and saying in an emphatic voice—
“You must be the Prince, Priscilla.”
A look of dismay crept over several faces. One or two made different proposals.
“Would not Nancy Banister take the part better, Maggie?” said Miss Claydon, a tall, graceful girl, who was to be Psyche.
“No; Nancy is to be Cyril. She sings well, and can do the part admirably. Miss Peel must be the Prince: I will have no other lover. What do you say, Miss Peel?”
“I cannot; it is impossible,” almost whispered Prissie.
”‘Cannot’ is a word which must not be listened to in our Dramatic Society,” responded Maggie. “I promise to turn you out a most accomplished Prince, my friend; no one shall be disappointed in you. Girls, do you leave this matter in my hands? Do you leave the Prince to me?”
“We cannot refuse you the privilege of choosing your own Prince, Princess,” said Miss Claydon, with a graceful curtsy.
The others assented, but unwillingly. Miss Oliphant was known to be more full of whims than anyone else in the college. Her extraordinary and sudden friendship for Prissie was regarded as her latest caprice.