“You must tell me your trouble, Miss Peel.”
“I will,” said Prissie. “Someone has stolen a five-pound note out of Maggie Oliphant’s purse; she missed it late at night, and spoke about it at breakfast this morning. I said that I did not know how it could have been taken, for I had been studying my Greek in her room during the whole afternoon. Maggie spoke about her loss in the dining-hall, and after she left the room Miss Day and Miss Merton accused me of having stolen the money.” Priscilla stopped speaking abruptly; she turned her head away; a dull red suffused her face and neck.
“Well?” said Hammond.
“That is all. The girls at St. Benet’s think I am a thief. They think I took my kindest friend’s money. I have nothing more to say: nothing possibly could be more dreadful to me. I shall speak to Miss Heath, and ask leave to go away from the college at once.”
“You certainly ought not to do that.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you went from St. Benet’s now, people might be induced to think that you really were guilty.”
“But they think that now.”
“I am quite certain that those students whose friendship is worth retaining think nothing of the sort.”
“Why are you certain?” asked Prissie, turning swiftly round, and a sudden ray of sunshine illuminating her whole face. “Do you think that I am not a thief?”