“Thank you,” said Maggie, “I’ll answer for Miss Peel. We’ll both come; we shall be delighted.”
Miss Heath nodded to the pair, and walked swiftly down the long hall to the dons’ special entrance, where she disappeared.
“Is not she charming?” whispered Maggie. “Did I not tell you you would fall in love with Dorothea?”
“But I have not,” said Priscilla, colouring. “And I don’t know whether she is charming or not.”
Maggie checked a petulant exclamation, which was rising to her lips. She was conscious of a curious desire to win her queer young companion’s goodwill and sympathy.
“Never mind,” she said, “the moment of victory is only delayed. You will tell a very different story after you have had tea with Dorothea this evening. Now, let us come and look at the notice-boards, and see what the day’s programme is. By the way, are you going to attend any lectures this morning?”
“Yes, two,” said Prissie—“one on Middle History, from eleven to twelve, and I have a French lecture afterwards.”
“Well, I am not doing anything this morning. I wish you were not. We might have taken a long walk together. Don’t you love long walks?”
“Oh, yes; but there is no time for anything of that sort here—nor—” Priscilla hesitated. “I don’t think there’s space for a very long walk here,” she added. The colour rushed into her cheeks as she spoke, and her eyes looked wistful.
Maggie laughed.