decorations and grew a little happier and less homesick at the
thought.

Priscilla could have been an artist herself had the opportunity
arisen, but she was one of those girls all alive with aspiration and
longing who never up to the present had come in the way of special
culture in any style.

She stood for some time gazing at the groups of wild flowers, then
remembering with horror that she was to receive visitors that night,
she looked round the room to see if she could do anything to make it
appear homelike and inviting.

It was a nice room, certainly. Priscilla had never before in her whole
life occupied such a luxurious apartment, and yet it had a cold,
dreary, uninhabited feel. She had an intuition that none of the other
students' rooms looked like hers. She rushed to light the fire, but
could not find the matches, which had been removed from their place on
the mantel-piece, and felt far too shy to ring the electric bell. It
was Priscilla's fashion to clasp her hands together when she felt a
sense of dismay, and she did so now as she looked around the pretty
room, which yet with all its luxuries looked to her cold and dreary.

The furniture was excellent of its kind. A Turkey carpet covered the
center of the floor, the boards round the edge were stained and
brightly polished. In one corner of the room was a little bed, made to
look like a sofa by day, with a Liberty cretonne covering. A curtain
of the same shut away the wardrobe and washing apparatus. Just under
one of the bay windows stood a writing-table, so contrived as to form
a writing-table, and a bookcase at the top, and a chest of drawers to