“I can’t take it back,” she said. “I’m not as mean as all that comes to. It’s yours now; you got it as fair as possible.”
“Listen, Miss Singleton,” said Maggie. “If I keep that jacket I shall never wear it. I detest sealskin jackets. It won’t be the least scrap of use to me.”
“You detest sealskin jackets? How can you? Oh, the lovely things they are. Let me stroke the beauty down.”
“Stroke your beauty, and pet it as much as you like, only let me say ‘Good-night,’ now.”
“But, please, Miss Oliphant, please, I’d do anything in the world to get the jacket back, of course. But I’ve ten guineas of yours, and honestly, I can’t pay them back.”
“Allow me to lend them to you until next term. You can return me the money then, can you not?” Polly’s face became on the instant a show of shining eyes, gleaming white teeth, and glowing cheeks.
“Of course I could pay you back, you—darling,” she said with enthusiasm. “Oh, what a relief this is to me; I’d have done anything in all the world to have my jacket back again.”
“It’s a bargain, then. Good-night, Miss Singleton.”
Maggie tossed the jacket on Polly’s bed, touched her hand lightly with one of her own, and left the room. She went quickly back to her own pretty sitting-room, locked her door, threw herself on her knees by her bureau, and sobbed long and passionately.
During the few days which now remained before the end of the term no one quite knew what was wrong with Miss Oliphant. She worked hard in preparation for her lectures, and when seen in public was always very merry. But there was a certain hardness about her mirth which her best friends detected, and which caused Nancy Banister a good deal of puzzled pain.