“It was wrong of you to be kind to me for that reason.”
“Wrong of me? What an extraordinary girl you are, Priscilla—why was it wrong of me?”
“Because I learnt to love you. You were gentle to me, and spoke courteously, when others were rude and only laughed; my whole heart went out to you when you were so sweet and gentle and kind. I did not think—I could not possibly think—that you were good just because it gave you a sort of selfish pleasure. When I heard your words I felt dreadful. I hated St. Benet’s; I wished I had never come. Your words turned everything to bitterness for me.”
“Did they really, Priscilla? Oh, Prissie! what a thoughtless, wild, impulsive creature I am. Well, I don’t feel now as I did that night. If those words were cruel, forgive me. Forget those words, Prissie.”
“I will, if you will.”
“I? I have forgotten them utterly.”
“Thank you, thank you.”
“Then we’ll be friends—real friends; true friends?”
“Yes.”
“You must say ‘Yes, Maggie.’”