“I suppose so. I only wonder what Mrs Lyttelton will say.”
“And I am going to my uncle. We all break up to-morrow; but you and I shall meet again in the autumn, Priscilla. You will have to say good-bye to dear old Mabel now.”
“You must wish me luck,” said Mabel. “I won’t forget my part; you need have no anxiety about your school fees.”
“Uncle Josiah seems pleased on the whole that I should remain,” answered Priscilla, “although I cannot make out the wording of his telegram; but I do wonder what arrangement he will make for paying Mrs Lyttelton.”
“If he cannot pay her you ought to go back,” said Annie, who did not at all wish to have this additional expense laid at Mabel’s door. She wished as much as possible of Mabel’s money should be devoted to herself. “But I suppose you will hear in the morning.”
“Yes; I suppose so,” said Priscilla.
“You look pretty miserable, Priscie. I wonder why, seeing all that Mabel and I have done for you.”
“All that I have done for you, you mean,” said Priscilla.
“Well, I like that,” said Annie.
“I will speak out for once,” said Priscilla, her eyes flashing fire and her pale face becoming suffused with colour. “I have gone under, and I hate myself. The hour of triumph to-day ought to have been mine. Don’t you suppose that I feel it? I loathe myself so deeply that I don’t think I am even a good enough girl to help my aunt in the house-work at home; and I pity the village dressmaker who would have me apprenticed to her. I am so bad that I loathe myself. Oh, you think that I shall be happy. You don’t know me; I can never be happy again!”