Two or three exquisitely dressed but frivolous-looking women stood in a group not far from the window where Priscilla sat forlorn. They talked about the cut of their mantles and the price they had given for their new winter bonnets. Their shrill laughter reached Prissie’s ears, also their words. They complimented one another, but talked scandal of their neighbors. They called somebody— who Prissie could not imagine—“a certain lady,” and spoke of how she was angling to get a footing in society, and how the good set at Kingsdene would certainly never have anything to do with her or hers. “She’s taking up those wretched girl graduates,” said one of these gossips to her neighbor. Then her eye fell upon Prissie. She said “Hush!” in an audible tone, and the little party moved away out of earshot. The minute hand of the clock on the mantel-piece pointed to nearly half-past five. Poor Prissie felt her miseries grow almost intolerable. Tears of mortification and anguish were forcing themselves to her eyes. She felt that, in addition to having lost so many hours of study, she would get into a serious scrape at St. Benet’s for breaking one of the known rules of the college. At this moment a quiet voice said, “How do you do?” She raised her tearful eyes. Geoffrey Hammond was standing by her side. He gave her a kind glance, shook hands with her and stood by her window uttering commonplaces until Priscilla had recovered her self-possession. Then, dropping into a chair near, he said abruptly: “I saw you from the other end of the room. I was surprised. I did not suppose you knew our hostess.” “Nor do I really,” said Priscilla with sudden vehemence. “Oh, it’s a shame!” she added, her face reddening up woefully; “I have been entrapped!” “You must not let the people who are near us hear you say words of that kind,” said Hammond; “they will crowd around to hear your story. Now, I want it all to myself. Do you think you can tell it to me in a low voice?” To poor Hammond’s horror Prissie began to whisper. “I beg your pardon,” he said, interrupting her, “but do you know that the buzzing noise caused by a whisper carries sound a long way? That is a well authenticated fact. Now, if you will try to speak low.” “Oh, thank you; yes, I will,” said Prissie. She began a garbled account. Hammond looked at her face and guessed the truth. The miseries of her present position were depriving the poor girl of the full use of her intellect. At last he ascertained that Priscilla’s all-absorbing present anxiety was to be in time for the half-past six dinner at St. Benet’s. “I know we’ll be late,” she said, “and I’ll have broken the rules, and Miss Heath will be so much annoyed with me.” Hammond volunteered to look for Miss Merton. “Oh, thank you,” said Prissie, the tears springing to her eyes. “How very, very kind you are.” “Please don’t speak of it,” said Hammond. “Stay where you are. I’ll soon bring the young truant to your side.”