Prissie stood still, with a gasp of dismay. She did not want Maggie to
hear her now. She would have been distressed at Maggie being
acquainted with her carelessness. She felt sure that a girl like
Maggie Oliphant could never understand what a little purse, which only
contained a sovereign or two, would mean to her.

On tiptoe, and shading the candle with her hand, she stole past the
partly open door. A rich tapestry curtain hung at the other side, and
Maggie doubtless thought the door was shut.

Priscilla had almost gone past the open door, when her steps were
again arrested by the sound of voices. Some one said "Priscilla Peel,"
and then some one else laughed.

Priscilla stood perfectly still. Of course she had no right to listen,
but she did. She waited breathless, in an agony of expectation, for
the next words.

"I would not be jealous if I were you, Nancy," said Maggie's lazy,
sweet voice. "The poor girl is as queer as her name, but it gives me a
kind of aesthetic pleasure to be good to people. You have no cause to
be jealous, sweet pet."

Priscilla raised one trembling hand and noiselessly put out her
candle. Her feet seemed rooted to the spot.

Nancy murmured something which Priscilla could not hear. Then there
was the sound of one girl kissing another, and Maggie's light laugh
was heard again.