“Well, I have come to-night to say that it is in my power to use some of that money which I detest in helping Prissie— in helping her family. I mean to help them; I mean to put them all in such a position that Priscilla shall not need to spend her youth in uncongenial drudgery. I have come to say this to you, Miss Heath, and I beg of you— yes, I beg of you— to induce my dear Prissie to go on with her classical studies. It will now be in your power to assure her that the necessity which made her obliged to give them up no longer exists.” “In short,” said Miss Heath, “you will give Miss Peel of your charity and take her independence away?” “What do you mean?” “Put yourself in her place, Maggie. Would you take money for yourself and those dear to you from a comparative stranger?” Maggie’s face grew very red. “I think I would oblige my friend, my dear friend,” she said. “Is Prissie really your dear friend?” “Why do you doubt me? I love her very much. Since— since Annabel died, no one has come so close to me.” “I am glad of that,” replied Miss Heath. She went up to Maggie and kissed her. “You will do what I wish?” asked the girl eagerly. “No, my dear: that matter lies in your hands alone. It is a case in which it is absolutely impossible for me to interfere. If you can induce Priscilla to accept money from you, I shall not say a word; and, for the sake of our college, I shall, perhaps, be glad, for there is not the least doubt that Prissie has it in her to win distinction for St. Benet’s. But, on the other hand, if she comes to me for advice, it will be impossible for me not to say to her: ‘My dear, character ranks higher than intellect. You may win the greatest prizes and yet keep a poor and servile soul. You may never get this great earthly distinction, and yet you may be crowned with honor— the honor which comes of uprightness, of independence, of integrity.’ Prissie may never consult me, of course, Maggie; but, if she does, I must say words something like these. To tell the truth, my dear, I never admired Priscilla more than I did last night. I encouraged her to give up her classics for the present and to devote herself to modern languages and to those accomplishments which are considered more essentially feminine. As I did so I had a picture before me, in which I saw Priscilla crowned with love, the support and blessing of her three little sisters. The picture was a very bright one, Maggie, and your crown of bay looks quite tawdry beside the other crown which I hope to see on Prissie’s brow.” Maggie rose from her chair. “Good night,” she said. “I am sorry to disappoint you, my love.” “I have no doubt you are right,” said Maggie, “but,” she added, “I have not made up my mind, and I still long for Priscilla to wear the crown of bay.” “You will win that crown yourself, my dear.” “Oh, no, it is not for me.”