Priscilla, left alone in Miss Heath’s sitting-room, stood still for a moment, then, running upstairs to her room, she put on her hat and jacket, and went out. She was expected to attend two lectures that morning, and the hour for the first had almost arrived. Maggie Oliphant was coming into the house when Prissie ran past her.
“My dear!” she exclaimed, shocked at the look on Priscilla’s face. “Come here; I want to speak to you.”
“I can’t—don’t stop me.”
“But where are you going? Mr Kenyon has just arrived. I am on my way to the lecture-hall now.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No.”
This last word reached Miss Oliphant from a distance; Prissie had already almost reached the gates.
Maggie stood still for a moment, half inclined to follow the excited, frantic-looking girl, but that queer inertia, which was part of her complex character, came over her. She shrugged her shoulders, the interest died out of her face; she walked slowly through the entrance-hall and down one of the side corridors to the lecture-room.
When the Greek lecture had come to an end, Nancy Banister came up and slipped her hand through Maggie’s arm.