He began to move about the drawing-rooms, and Prissie from her hiding-place watched him with a world of gratitude in her face. “Talk of my stirring from this corner,” she said to herself, “why, I feel glued to the spot! Oh, my awful muddy boots. I daren’t even think of them. Now I do hope Mr. Hammond will find Miss Merton quickly. How kind he is! I wonder Maggie does not care for him as much as he cares for her. I do not feel half as shy with him as I do with every one else in this dreadful— dreadful room. Oh, I do trust he’ll soon come back and bring Miss Merton with him. Then, if we run all the way, we may, perhaps, be in time for dinner.” Hammond was absent about ten minutes; they seemed like so many hours to anxious Prissie. To her horror she saw him returning alone, and now she so far forgot her muddy boots as to run two or three steps to meet him. She knocked over a footstool as she did so, and one or two people looked round and shrugged their shoulders at the poor _gauche_ girl. “Where is she?” exclaimed Prissie, again speaking in a loud voice. “Oh, haven’t you brought her? What shall I do?” “It’s all right, I assure you, Miss Peel. Let me conduct you back to that snug seat in the window. I have seen Miss Merton, and she says you are to make yourself happy. She asked Miss Heath’s permission for you both to be absent from dinner to-day.” “She did? I never heard of anything so outrageous. _I_ won’t stay. I shall go away at once.” “Had you not better just think calmly over it? If you return to St. Benet’s without Miss Merton, you will get her into a scrape.” “Do you think I care for that? Oh, she has behaved disgracefully! She has told Miss Heath a lie. I shall explain matters the very moment I go back.” Priscilla was not often in a passion, but she felt in one now. She lost her shyness and her voice rose without constraint. “I am not supposed to know the ways of society,” she said, “but I don’t think I want to know much about this sort of society.” And she got up, prepared to leave the room. The ladies, who had been gossiping at her side, turned at the sound of her agitation. They saw a plain, badly dressed girl, with a frock conveniently short for the muddy streets, but by no means in tone with her present elegant surroundings, standing up and contradicting, or at least appearing to contradict, Geoffrey Hammond, one of the best known men at St. Hilda’s, a Senior Wrangler, too. What did this _gauche_ girl mean? Most people were deferential to Hammond, but she seemed to be scolding him. Prissie for the time being became more interesting even than the winter fashions. The ladies drew a step or two nearer to enjoy the little comedy. Priscilla noticed no one, but Hammond felt these good ladies in the air. His cheeks burned and he wished himself well out of his present position. “If you will sit down, Miss Peel,” he said in a low, firm voice, “I think I can give you good reasons for not rushing away in this headlong fashion.”