Maggie walked on a little way. Then she turned, and looked down the street where he had vanished. Suddenly she raised her hand to her lips, kissed it, and blew the kiss after the figure which had already disappeared. She laughed excitedly when she did this, and her whole face was glowing with a beautiful colour.
Prissie, standing miserable and forgotten by the tall, handsome girl’s side, could see the light in her eyes, and the glow on her checks in the lamplight.
“I am here,” said Priscilla, at last, in a low, half-frightened voice. “I am sorry I am here, but I am. I heard what you said to Mr Hammond. I am sorry I heard.”
Maggie turned slowly, and looked at her. Prissie returned her gaze. Then, as if further words were wrung from her against her will, she continued—
“I saw the tears in your eyes in the fern-house at the Marshalls’. I am very sorry, but I did see them.”
“My dear Prissie!” said Maggie. She went up suddenly to the girl, put her arm round her neck, and kissed her.
“Come home now,” she said, drawing Prissie’s hand through her arm. “I don’t think I greatly mind your knowing,” she said, after a pause. “You are true; I see it in your face. You would never tell again—you would never make mischief.”
“Tell again! Of course not.” Prissie’s words came out with great vigour.
“I know you would not, Priscilla; may I call you Priscilla?”
“Yes.”