Chapter Twenty Eight.
“Come and Kill the Bogie.”
Notwithstanding Nancy’s dismal prognostications, Maggie Oliphant played her part brilliantly that night. Her low spirits were succeeded by gay ones; the Princess had never looked more truly regal, nor had the Prince ever more passionately wooed her. Girls who did not belong to the society always flocked into the theatre to see the rehearsals. Maggie’s mood scarcely puzzled them. She was so erratic that no one expected anything from her but the unexpected: if she looked like a drooping flower one moment, her head was erect the next, her eyes sparkling, her voice gay. The flower no longer drooped, but blossomed with renewed vigour. After reading for an hour Nancy had left her friend asleep. She went downstairs, and, in reply to several anxious inquiries, pronounced it as her opinion that Maggie, with all the good will in the world, could scarcely take part in the rehearsals that night.
“I know Maggie is going to be ill,” said Nancy, with tears in her eyes. Miss Banister was so sensible and so little given to undue alarms, that her words had effect, and a little rumour spread in the college that Miss Oliphant could not take her part in the important rehearsals which were to take place that evening. Her appearance, therefore, in more than her usual beauty, with more vigour in her voice, more energy and brightness in her eyes, gave at once a pleasing sense of satisfaction. She was cheered when she entered the little theatre, but, if there was a brief surprise, it was quickly succeeded by the comment which generally followed all her doings—“This is just like Maggie; no one can depend on how she will act for a moment.”
At that rehearsal, however, people were taken by surprise. If the Princess did well, the young Prince did better. Priscilla had completely dropped her rôle of the awkward and gauche girl. From the first there had been vigour and promise in her acting. To-night there was not only vigour, but tenderness—there was a passion in her voice which arose now and then to power. She was so completely in sympathy with her part that she ceased to be Priscilla: she was the Prince who must win this wayward Princess or die.
Maggie came up to her when the rehearsals were over.
“I congratulate you,” she said. “Prissie, you might do well on the stage.”
Priscilla smiled. “No,” she said, “for I need inspiration to forget myself.”