They were expected to return to the college not later than eleven at
night, and one invitation to go out in the week was, as a rule, the
most they ever accepted.

Into this life Priscilla came, fresh from the Devonshire farm and from
all the pursuits and interests which had hitherto formed her world.
She had made a very firm niche for herself in Aunt Raby's old cottage,
and the dislodgment therefrom caused her for the time such mental
disquiet and so many nervous and queer sensations that her pain was
often acute and her sense of awkwardness considerable.

Priscilla's best in her early life always seemed but a poor affair,
and she certainly neither looked nor was at her best at first here.
After a few days, however, she fitted into her new grooves, took up
the line of study which she intended to pursue and was quickly
absorbed in all the fascinations which it offered to a nature like
hers.

Her purse was restored to her on the morning after her arrival, and
neither Maggie Oliphant nor Nancy Banister ever guessed that she had
overheard some words of theirs on the night of her arrival, and that
these had put bitterness into her heart and nearly destroyed her faith
in her fellow-students. Both Maggie and Nance made several overtures
of kindness to Prissie, but the cold manner which was more or less
habitual to her never thawed, and, after a time, they left her alone.
There is no saying what might have happened to Prissie had she never
overheard this conversation. As it was, however, after the first shock
it gave her courage.

She said to herself: