The electric lights were all extinguished, and this light alone shone like a ray in the darkness.
Prissie stood still, with a gasp of dismay. She did not want Maggie to hear her now. She would have been distressed at Maggie being acquainted with her carelessness. She felt sure that a girl like Maggie Oliphant could never understand what a little purse, which only contained a sovereign or two, would mean to her.
On tiptoe, and shading the candle with her hand, she stole past the partly open door. A rich tapestry curtain hung at the other side, and Maggie doubtless thought the door was shut.
Priscilla had almost gone past the open door, when her steps were again arrested by the sound of voices. Someone said “Priscilla Peel,” and then someone else laughed.
Priscilla stood perfectly still. Of course she had no right to listen, but she did; she waited breathless, in an agony of expectation, for the next words.
“I would not be jealous if I were you, Nancy,” said Maggie’s lazy, sweet voice. “The poor girl is as queer as her name, but it gives me a kind of aesthetic pleasure to be good to people. You have no cause to be jealous, sweet pet.”
Priscilla raised one trembling hand, and noiselessly put out her candle. Her feet seemed rooted to the spot.
Nancy murmured something, which Priscilla could not hear. Then there was the sound of one girl kissing another, and Maggie’s light laugh was heard again.
“The unfortunate girl has fallen in love with you, there’s no doubt about that, Maggie,” said Nancy.
“Well, my dear, she’ll get over that little fever presently. When I’m kind to them, they all have it. I believe I am gracious to them just because I like to see that grateful, affectionate expression in their eyes. The fact is, Nance, I have a perfectly crazy desire to excite love.”