“Why do you say you can scarcely bear it? Do you love me so well that you hate to excel me? Silly child, as if I cared!”
“Maggie, I know you are really too great to be possessed by petty weaknesses. If I ever did excel you, which is most unlikely, I know you would be glad both for me and yourself. No, it is not that; I am unhappy because of no fancy.”
“What worries you then?”
“Maggie, do you see this note?”
“Yes; it is from Miss Heath, is it not?”
“It is. I am to see her to-night.”
“Well, Prissie, you must be quick with your revelation, for I have some notes to look over.”
“I won’t keep you a moment. I am to see Miss Heath to tell her—” Prissie paused. Her face grew deadly white. “I am to see Miss Heath to tell her—to tell her—that I.—Oh, Maggie! I must give up my classics. I must; it’s all settled. Don’t say anything. Don’t tempt me to reconsider the question. It can’t be reconsidered, and my mind is made up. That’s it; it’s a trouble, but I must go through with it. Good-night, Maggie.”
Prissie held out her long, unformed hand; Miss Oliphant clasped it between both her own.
“You are trembling,” she said, standing up and drawing the girl towards her. “I don’t want to argue the point if you so firmly forbid me. I think you quite mad, of course. It is absolutely impossible for me to sympathise with such wild folly. Still, if your mind is made up, I won’t interfere. But, seeing that at one time we were very firm friends, you might give me your reasons, Priscilla.”