“The simple English of all this,” said Miss Heath, “is that the successful girl here is the girl who takes advantage of the whole life mapped out for her, who divides her time between play and work, who joins the clubs and enters heartily into the social life of the place. Yes,” she added, looking suddenly full at Priscilla, “these last words of mine may seem strange to you, dear. Believe me, however, they are true. But I know,” she added with a sigh, “that it takes rather an old person to believe in the education of _play.”_ Priscilla looked unconvinced. “I must do what you wish,” she said, “for, of course, you ought to know.” “What a lame kind of assent, my love! Maggie, you will have to gently lure this young person into the paths of frivolity. I promise you, my dear, that you shall be a very cultivated woman some day; but I only promise this if you will take advantage of all sides of the pleasant life here. Now tell me what are your particular tastes? What branch of study do you like best?” “I love Latin and Greek better than anything else in the world.” “Do you truly?” said Maggie, suddenly starting forward. “Then in one thing we have a great sympathy. What have you read? Do tell me.” Miss Heath stepped directly into the background. The two girls conversed for a long time together. CHAPTER X ST. HILDA’S CHAPEL “Here we are now,” said Maggie Oliphant, touching her young companion; “we are in good time; this is the outer chapel. Yes, I know all that you are thinking, but you need not speak; I did not want to speak the first time I came to St. Hilda’s. Just follow me quickly. I know this verger; he will put us into two stalls; then it will be perfect.” “Yes,” answered Priscilla. She spoke in an awed kind of voice. The cool effect of the dark oak, combined with the richness of the many shafts of colored light coming from the magnificent windows, gave her own face a curious expression. Was it caused by emotion or by the strange lights in the chapel? Maggie glanced at her, touched her hand for a moment and then hurried forward to her seat. The girls were accommodated with stalls just above the choir. They could read out of the college prayer-books and had a fine view of the church. The congregation streamed in, the choir followed; the doors between the chapel and ante-chapel were shut, the curtains were dropped and the service began. There is no better musical service in England than that which Sunday after Sunday is conducted at St. Hilda’s Chapel at Kingsdene. The harmony and the richness of the sounds which fill that old chapel can scarcely be surpassed. The boys send up notes clear and sweet as nightingales into the fretted arches of the roof; the men’s deeper notes swell the music until it breaks on the ears in a full tide of perfect harmony; the great organ fills in the breaks and pauses. This splendid service of song seems to reach perfection. In its way earth cannot give anything more perfect.