Prissie’s eyes were raised to his.
“Because Aunt Raby is ill, and it is wicked of me to forget her. It is mean and cowardly. I hate myself for it!”
Mr Hayes looked puzzled for a moment; then his face cleared.
“My dear Prissie,” he said, “I always knew there were depths of morbidness in you, but I did not suppose that you would sound them so quickly. If you are to grow up to be a wise and useful and helpful woman by-and-by, you must check this intense self-examination. Your feelings are the natural feelings of a girl who has entered upon a very charming life. You are meant to lead that life for the present; you are meant to do your duty in it. Don’t worry, my dear. Go back to St. Benet’s, and study well, and learn much, and gather plenty of experience for the future. If you fret about what cannot be helped, you will weaken your intellect and tire your heart. After all, Prissie, though you give much thought to St. Benet’s, and though its ways are delightful to you, your love is still with the old friends, is it not?”
“Even there I have failed,” said Priscilla, sadly. “There is a girl at St. Benet’s who has a strange power over me. I love her—I have a very great love for her. She is not a happy girl, she is not a perfect girl, but I would do anything—anything in the wide world for her.”
“And you would do anything for us, too?”
“Oh, yes, yes.”
“And, though you don’t think it, your love for us is stronger than your love for her. There is a freshness about the new love which fascinates you, but the old is the stronger. Keep both loves, my dear: both are of value. Now I must go out to visit poor Peters, who is ill, so I can see you home. Is there anything more you want to say to me?”
“Oh, yes, Mr Hayes, Aunt Raby is very ill.”
“She is, Prissie.”