Before Priscilla had time to reply there was again a knock at the
door, and this time Nancy Banister, looking flushed and pretty, came
in.

She took in the scene at a glance; numbers of girls making themselves
at home in Priscilla's room, some seated on her trunk, some on her
bureau, several curled up in comfortable attitudes on her bed and she
herself standing, meek, awkward, depressed, near one of the windows.

"How tired you look, Miss Peel!" said Nancy Banister.

Priscilla smiled gratefully at her.

"And your trunk is not unpacked yet?"

"Oh! there is time enough," faltered Priscilla.

"Are we in your way?" suddenly spoke Miss Marsh, springing to her
feet. "Good night. My name is Marsh, my room is thirty-eight."

She swung herself lazily and carelessly out of the room, followed, at
longer or shorter intervals, by the other girls, who all nodded to
Priscilla, told her their names and one or two the numbers of their
rooms. At last she was left alone with Nancy Banister.

"Poor thing! How tired and white you look!" said Nancy. "But now that
dreadful martyrdom is over, you shall have a real cozy time. Don't you
want a nice hot cup of cocoa? It will be ready in a minute or two. And
please may I help you to unpack?"