“Why so? What have I got? I have no beauty; I am not clever; I am neither romantically poor, like Prissie, nor romantically rich, like you. In short, the fairies were not invited to my christening.” “One of two fairies came, however,” replied Maggie, “and they gave you an honest soul, and a warm heart, and— and happiness, Nancy. My dear, I need only look into your eyes to know that you are happy.” Nancy’s blue eyes glowed with pleasure. “Yes,” she said, “I don’t know anything about dumps and low spirits.” “And you are unselfish, Nancy; you are never seeking your own pleasure.” “I am not obliged to: I have all I want. And now to turn to a more important subject. I will see the members of our Dramatic Society and put off the rehearsal.” “You must not; the excitement will do me good.” “For the time, perhaps,” replied Nancy, shaking her wise head, “but you will be worse afterward.” “No. Now, Nancy, don’t let us argue the point. If you are _truly_ my friend, you will sit by me for an hour and read aloud the dullest book you can find, then perhaps I shall go to sleep.” CHAPTER XXVIII “COME AND KILL THE BOGIE” Notwithstanding Nancy’s dismal prognostications, Maggie Oliphant played her part brilliantly that night. Her low spirits were succeeded by gay ones; the Princess had never looked more truly regal, nor had the Prince ever more passionately wooed her. Girls who did not belong to the society always flocked into the theater to see the rehearsals. Maggie’s mood scarcely puzzled them. She was so erratic that no one expected anything from her but the unexpected: if she looked like a drooping flower one moment, her head was erect the next, her eyes sparkling, her voice gay. The flower no longer drooped, but blossomed with renewed vigor. After reading for an hour Nancy had left her friend asleep. She went downstairs, and, in reply to several anxious inquiries, pronounced it as her opinion that Maggie, with all the good will in the world, could scarcely take part in the rehearsals that night. “I know Maggie is going to be ill,” said Nancy with tears in her eyes. Miss Banister was so sensible and so little given to undue alarms that her words had effect, and a little rumor spread in the college that Miss Oliphant could not take her part in the important rehearsals which were to take place that evening. Her appearance, therefore, in more than her usual beauty, with more vigor in her voice, more energy and brightness in her eyes, gave at once a pleasing sense of satisfaction. She was cheered when she entered the little theater, but, if there was a brief surprise, it was quickly succeeded by the comment which generally followed all her doings: “This is just like Maggie; no one can depend on how she will act for a moment.”