It did. The other students who lived in the same corridor came to visit Priscilla in the free and easy manner which characterised them, and made remarks the reverse of flattering. When was she going to put her pictures up? Miss Day would be delighted to help her whenever she chose to do it. When did she intend to go down to Kingsdene to order her easy-chairs and little Japanese tables, and rugs, and the other small but necessary articles which would be required to make her room habitable?
For several days Priscilla turned these inquiries aside. She blushed, stammered, looked awkward, and spoke of something else. At last, however, she summoned up courage, and, once for all, delivered herself from her tormentors. She did that remarkably brave thing which sometimes very nervous people can brace themselves to do.
It was evening, and Miss Day, Miss Marsh, and Nancy Banister had all come in for a few minutes to see Priscilla on their way to their own rooms.
“Do come and cocoa with me to-night, Miss Peel,” said Miss Day. “You’re so dreadfully unsociable, not a bit like an ordinary St. Benet’s girl. If you go on in this fashion you’ll be moped to death before your first term is over.”
“I am accustomed to a very quiet life,” responded Priscilla, “and I want to work; I have come here to work.”
“Dear, dear! anyone would suppose you were going in for a tripos. If this were your last term I could understand it—but your first!”
It was Miss Marsh who said these words. She was a bright-eyed, merry-looking girl, the reverse of over-studious herself.
“Oh, come along, dear: I’ll give you such a delicious cup of cocoa,” said Miss Day.
She crossed the room, and tried to link her hand affectionately in Prissie’s arm. Miss Peel drew back a step.
“Thank you,” she said, “but I—I—cannot come.”