little brass kettle sang merrily on the hob. The cocoa-table was drawn
up in front of the fire and on a quaintly shaped tray stood the bright
little cocoa-pot and the oddly devised cups and saucers.

"Welcome to St. Benet's!" said Maggie, going up and taking Priscilla's
hand cordially within her own. "Now you'll have to get into this low
chair and make yourself quite at home and happy."

"How snug you are here," said Prissie, her eyes brightening and a pink
color mounting into her cheeks. She was glad that Maggie was alone;
she felt more at ease with her than with any one, but the next moment
she said with a look of apparent regret:

"I thought Miss Banister was in your room?"

"No; Nancy has gone to her own room at the end of the corridor to do
some work for an hour. She will come back to say good night. She
always does. Are you sorry to have me by myself?"

"Indeed I am not," said Priscilla. The smile, which made her rather
plain face attractive, crept slowly back to it. Maggie poured out a
cup of cocoa and brought it to her. Then, drawing another chair
forward, she seated herself in it, sipped her own cocoa and began to
talk.

Long afterward Priscilla remembered that talk. It was not what Maggie
said, for her conversation in itself was not at all brilliant, but it
was the sound of her rich, calm, rather lazy voice, the different
lights which glanced and gleamed in her eyes, the dimples about her
mouth, the attitude she put herself in. Maggie had a way of changing