"It is better than my home--that is all I can say; but as to loving it," Annie cried, "I love the world, and the ways of the world, and I should like some day to be a great, fine lady with magnificent clothes, and men, in especial, bowing down to me and making love to me! That is my idea of true happiness." "Well, it is not mine," said Priscilla. She moved restlessly. "How white you are, Priscie! You don't look a bit well." "I am quite well. Why do you imagine I am not?" "You are so sad, too. What are you sad about?" As Annie boldly uttered the last words Priscilla's face underwent a queer change. A sort of anguish seemed to fill it. Her mouth quivered. "I shall never, never be quite happy again, Annie Brooke; and you know it." "Oh, you goose!" said Annie. "Do you mean to say you are letting your little fiddle-faddle of a conscience prick you?" "It is the voice of God within me. You _dare_ not speak of it like that!" Annie settled herself more comfortably on the bed. She faced her companion defiantly. "I know what you are about to do," she said. "What do you know?" "And if you do it," continued Annie, "and turn traitor to those who have trusted you--to your own schoolfellows--you will be the meanest Judas that ever walked the earth!" Priscilla's face was very white, almost as white as death. "Leave my room, please," she said. "Whatever I have done, I have done at your instigation; and whatever I do in the future is my affair and no one else's. Leave the room immediately." "I won't until you make me a promise." "I will make you no promise. I have had too many dealings with you in the past. Leave the room, please." Priscilla spoke with such dignity that Annie, cowed and almost terrified, was forced to obey. She went out on the landing. Priscilla, for the time being, had completely routed her. She scarcely knew how to act.