“Yes. Well, I have come to say that she must not be allowed to give up her Greek and Latin.”
“Why not?”
“Miss Heath, how can you say, ‘why not’? Prissie is a genius; her inclination lies in that direction. It is in her power to become one of the most brilliant classical scholars of her day.”
Miss Heath smiled. “Well, Maggie,” she said, slowly, “even suppose that is the case—and you must own that, clever as Priscilla is, you make an extreme statement when you say such words—she may do well, very well, and yet turn her attention to other subjects for the present.”
“It is cruel!” said Maggie, rising and stamping her foot, impatiently. “Priscilla has it in her to shed honour on our college; she will take a first-class when she goes in for her tripos, if her present studies are not interfered with.”
Miss Heath smiled at Maggie in a pitying sort of way. “I admit,” she said, “that first-class honours would be a very graceful crown of bay to encircle that young head; and yet, Maggie, yet—surely Priscilla can do better?”
“What do you mean? How can she possibly do better?”
“She can wear a nobler crown. You know, Maggie, there are crowns to be won which cannot fade.”
“Oh!” Maggie’s lips trembled; she looked down.
After a pause, she said, “Priscilla told me something of her home and her family. I suppose she has also confided in you, Miss Heath?”