“At least, I heard enough to assure me that you spoke the truth and concealed nothing,” she said.
“It is the case that I spoke the truth, as far as it went; but it is not the case that I concealed nothing.”
“Well, Maggie, I have come to offer you my sincere sympathy.”
“Thank you,” said Maggie. She leant back in her chair, folded her hands, and a tired look came over her expressive face. “The fact is,” she said, suddenly, “I am sick of the whole thing. I am sorry I went; I made a public confession of my sorrow last night; now I wish to forget it.”
“How can you possibly forget it, until you know Miss Heath’s and Miss Eccleston’s decision?”
“Frankly, Constance, I don’t care what decision they come to.”
“You don’t care? You don’t mind the college authorities knowing?”
“I don’t care if every college authority in England knows. I have been humbled in the eyes of Miss Heath, whom I love; nothing else matters.”
When Maggie said these words, Prissie rose to her feet, looked at her with a queer, earnest glance, suddenly bent forward, kissed her frantically, and rushed out of the room.
“And I love that dear true-hearted child, too,” said Maggie. “Now, Constance, do let us talk of something else.”