Edward Gibbon - "The History of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire"

Benjamin Harrison - "State of the Union Addresses of Benjamin Harrison"

Benjamin Harrison - "State of the Union Addresses of Benjamin Harrison"

Henry Timrod - "Poems of Henry Timrod"

A Sweet Girl Graduate

M >> Mrs. L.T. Meade >> A Sweet Girl Graduate




"I can't help it," she said, turning and speaking in a low voice to
Priscilla, who stood by her side-- "I can't help it, Prissie; I don't
want that coral a bit-- coral doesn't suit me: I dislike it as an
ornament. But something inside of me says Rose Merton shall not wear
it. Stay here, Prissie, I'll be back in a minute."

Miss Oliphant moved forward; she was so tall that her head could be
seen above those of most of the other girls.

The bids for the coral had now risen to three pounds ten. Maggie at
one bound raised them ten shillings. Rose bid against her, and for a
short time one or two other girls raised their previous offers. The
price for the coral rose and rose. Soon a large sum was offered for
it, and still the bids kept rising. Rosalind and Maggie were once more
alone in the field, and now any onlooker could perceive that it was
not the desire to obtain the pretty ornaments, but the wish for
victory which animated both girls.

When the bids rose above ten guineas Rosalind's face assumed a ghastly
hue, but she was now far too angry with Maggie to pause or consider
the fact that she was offering more money for the pink coral than she
possessed in the world. The bids still went higher and higher. There
was intense excitement in the room; all the noisy babel ceased. No
sound was heard but the eager voices of the two who were cruelly
fighting each other and the astonished tones of the young auctioneer.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen pounds were reached. Maggie's bid was
fourteen pounds.

"Guineas!" screamed Rose with a weak sort of gasp.

Maggie turned and looked at her, then walked slowly back to her place
by Priscilla's side.

The coral belonged to Rose Merton, and she had four guineas too little
to pay for it.

CHAPTER XVIII

A BLACK SELF AND A WHITE SELF

"IT is quite true, Maggie," said Nancy Banister. "It is about the
auction. Yes, there is no doubt about that. What possessed you to go?"

Maggie Oliphant was standing in the center of her own room with an
open letter in her hand. Nancy was reading it over her shoulder:

KATHARINE HALL,

"Dec. 2.

"Miss Eccleston and Miss Heath request Miss Oliphant and Miss Peel
to present themselves in Miss Eccleston's private sitting-room this
evening at seven o'clock."

"That is all," said Maggie. "It sounds as solemn and unfriendly as if
one were about to be tried for some capital offense."

"It's the auction, of course," repeated Nancy. "Those girls thought
they had kept it so quiet, but some one must have 'peached,' I
suppose, to curry favor. Whatever made you go, Maggie? You know you
have never mixed yourself up with that Day, and Merton, and Marsh set.
As to that poor Polly Singleton, there's no harm in her, but she's a
perfect madcap. What could have possessed you to go?"

"My evil genius," repeated Maggie in a gloomy tone. "You don't suppose
I wished to be there, Nancy; but that horrid little Merton girl said
something taunting, and then I forgot myself. Oh, dear, Nancy! what
shall I ever do with that other self of mine? It will ruin me in the
end. It gets stronger every day."

Maggie sat down on the sofa. Nancy suddenly knelt by her side.

"Dear Meg," she said caressingly, "you're the noblest, and the
sweetest, and the most beautiful girl at St. Benet's! Why can't you
live up to your true self?"

"There are two selfs in me," replied Maggie. "And if one even
approaches the faintest semblance of angel-hood, the other is black as
pitch. There, it only wastes time to talk the thing over. I'm in for
the sort of scrape I hate most. See, Nancy, I bought this at the
auction."

She opened her wardrobe, and taking out Polly Singleton's magnificent
eighty-guinea sealskin jacket, slipped it on.

"Don't I look superb?" said Maggie. She shut the wardrobe-door and
surveyed herself in its long glass. Brown was Maggie Oliphant's color.
It harmonized with the soft tints of her delicately rounded face, with
the rich color in her hair, with the light in her eyes. It added to
all these charms, softening them, giving to them a more perfect
luster.

"Oh, Maggie!" said Nancy, clasping her hands, "you ought always to be
dressed as you are now."

Maggie dropped her arms suddenly to her sides. The jacket, a little
too large for her, slid off her shoulders and lay in a heap on the
floor.

"What?" she said suddenly. "Am I never to show my true and real self?
Am I always to be disguised in sham beauty and sham goodness? Oh,
Nancy, Nancy! if there is a creature I hate-- I hate-- her name is
Maggie Oliphant!"

Nancy picked up the sealskin jacket and put it back into the wardrobe.

"I am sorry you went to the auction, Maggie," she repeated, "and I'm
sorry still to find you bought poor Polly Singleton's sealskin. Well,
it's done now, and we have to consider how to get you out of this
scrape.

There's no time for you to indulge in that morbid talk of yours
to-day, Maggie, darling. Let us consider what's best to be done."

"Nothing," retorted Maggie. "I shall simply go to Miss Heath and Miss
Eccleston and tell them the truth. There's nothing else to be done. No
hope whatever of getting out of the affair. I went to Polly
Singleton's auction because Rosalind Merton raised the demon in me. I
tried to become the possessor of the sealskin jacket because her heart
was set on it. I won an eighty-guinea jacket for ten guineas. You see
how ignoble my motives were, also how unworthy the results. I did
worse even than that-- for I will out with the truth to you, Nancy-- I
revenged myself still further upon that spiteful little gnat,
Rosalind, and raised the price of her coveted coral to such an extent
that I know by her face she is pounds in debt for it. Now, my dear,
what have you to say to me? Nothing good, I know that. Let me read
Aristotle for the next hour just to calm my mind."

Maggie turned away, seated herself by her writing bureau and tried to
lose both the past and the present in her beloved Greek.

"She will do it, too," whispered Nancy as she left the room. "No one
ever was made quite like Maggie. She can feel tortures and yet the
next moment she can be in ecstasy. She is so tantalizing that at times
you are almost brought to believe her own stories about herself. You
are almost sure that she has got the black self as well as the white
self. But through it all, yes, through it all, you love her. Dear
Maggie! Whatever happens, I must always-- always love her."

Nancy was walking slowly down the corridor when a room-door was gently
opened and the sweet, childish, innocent face of Rosalind peeped out.

"Nancy, is that you? Do, for Heaven's sake, come in and speak to me
for a moment."

"What about, Rosalind? I have only a minute or two to spare. My German
lecture is to begin immediately."

"Oh, what does that signify? You don't know the awful trouble we've
got into."

"You mean about the auction?"

"Yes-- yes; so you have heard?"

"Of course I've heard. If that is all, Rosalind, I cannot wait to
discuss the matter now. I am very sorry for you, of course, but as I
said to Maggie, why did you do it?"

"Oh, you've been talking to Miss Oliphant? Thank goodness she'll have
to answer for her sins as well as the rest of us."

"Maggie is my friend, so you need not abuse her, Rosalind."

"Lucky for her that she has got one true friend!" retorted Rosalind.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say. Maggie is making such a fool of herself that we
are all laughing at her behind her back."

"Indeed? I fail to understand you."

"You are being made a fool of, too, Nancy. Oh, I did think you'd have
had more sense."

"How? Speak. Say at once what you want to say, Rosalind, and stop
talking riddles, for I must fly to my work."

"Fly then," retorted Rosalind, "only think twice before you give your
confidence to a certain person. A person who makes a fine parade of
poverty and so-called honesty of purpose, but who can, and who does,
betray her kindest and best friend behind her back. It is my private
belief we have to thank this virtuous being for getting us into the
pleasant scrape we are in. I am convinced she has tried to curry favor
by telling Miss Heath all about poor Polly's auction."

"You mean Priscilla Peel?" said Nancy in a firm voice. She forgot her
German lecture now. "You have no right to say words of that kind. You
have taken a dislike to Prissie, no one knows why. She is not as
interesting nor as beautiful as Maggie, but she is good, and you
should respect her."

Rosalind laughed bitterly.

"Good? Is she? Ask Mr. Hammond. You say she is not beautiful nor
interesting. Perhaps he finds her both. Ask him."

"Rosalind, I shall tell Maggie what you say. This is not the first
time you have hinted unkind things about Priscilla. It is better to
sift a matter of this kind to the bottom than to hint it all over the
college as you are doing. Maggie shall take it in hand."

"Let her! I shall only be too delighted! What a jolly time the saintly
Priscilla will have."

"I can't stay any longer, Rosalind."

"But, Nancy, just one moment. I want to put accounts right with Polly
before to-night. Mother sent me ten pounds to buy something at the
auction. The coral cost fourteen guineas. I have written to mother for
the balance, and it may come by any post. Do lend it to me until it
comes! Do, kind Nancy!"

"I have not got so much in the world, I have not really, Rosalind.
Good-by; my lecture will have begun."

Nancy ran out of the room and Miss Merton turned to survey ruefully
her empty purse and to read again a letter which had already arrived
from her mother:

MY DEAR ROSALIND: I have not the additional money to spare you, my
poor child. The ten pounds which I weakly yielded at your first
earnest request was, in reality, taken from the money which is to
buy your sisters their winter dresses. I dare not encroach any
further on it, or your father would certainly ask me why the girls
were dressed so shabbily. Fourteen guineas for coral! You know, my
dear child, we cannot afford this extravagance. My advice is to
return it to your friend and to ask her to let you have the ten
guineas back. You might return it to me in a postal order, for I
want it badly. It was one thing to struggle to let you have it in
the hopes that you would secure a really valuable garment like a
sealskin jacket and another to give it to you for some rather
useless ornaments. Your affectionate mother,

"ALICE MERTON."

CHAPTER XIX

IN MISS ECCLESTON'S SITTING-ROOM

MISS ECCLESTON was a dark, heavy-looking person; she was not as
attractive either in appearance or manner as Miss Heath. She was
estimable, and the college authorities thought most highly of her, but
her character possessed more hardness than softness, and she was not
as popular with the girls and young lecturers who lived in Katharine
Hall as was Miss Heath with her girls.

When Maggie entered Miss Eccleston's sitting-room that evening she
found the room about half-full of eager, excited-looking girls. Miss
Eccleston was standing up and speaking; Miss Heath was leaning against
the wall; a velvet curtain made a background which brought out her
massive and grand figure in full relief.

Miss Eccleston looked excited and angry; Miss Heath's expression was a
little perplexed, and a kind of sorrowful mirth brought smiles to her
lips now and then, which she was most careful to suppress instantly.

As Maggie made her way to the front of the room she recognized several
of the girls. Rosalind Merton, Annie Day, Lucy Marsh were all present.
She saw them, although they were standing hidden behind many other
girls. Prissie, too, was there-- she had squeezed herself into a
corner. She looked awkward, plain and wretched. She was clasping and
unclasping her hands and trying to subdue the nervous tremors which
she could not conceal.

Maggie, as she walked across the room, singled Prissie out. She gave
her a swift glance, a brilliant and affectionate smile and then stood
in such a position that neither Miss Eccleston nor Miss Heath could
catch a glimpse of her.

Miss Eccleston, who had been speaking when Maggie entered the room,
was now silent. She had a note-book in her hand and was rapidly
writing something in it with a pencil. Some one gave Maggie a rather
severe prod on her elbow. Polly Singleton, tall, flushed and heavy,
stood close to her side.

"You'll stand up for me, won't you, Miss Oliphant?" whispered Polly.

Maggie raised her eyes, looked at the girl, who was even taller than
herself, and began to reply in her usual voice.

"Silence," said Miss Eccleston. She put down her note-book. "I wish
for no conversation between you at the present moment, young ladies.
Good evening, Miss Oliphant; I am pleased to see you here. I shall
have a few questions to ask you in a minute. Now, Miss Singleton, if
you please, we will resume our conversation. You have confessed to the
fact of the auction. I wish now to ascertain what your motive was."

Poor Polly stammered and reddened, twisted her hands as badly as
Prissie herself could have done and looked to right and left of her in
the most bewildered and unhappy manner.

"Don't you hear me, Miss Singleton? I wish to know what your motive
was in having an auction in Katharine Hall," repeated Miss Eccleston.

"Tell her the truth," whispered Maggie.

Polly, who was in a condition to catch even at a straw for support,
said falteringly:

"I had the auction in my room because of dad."

Miss Eccleston raised her brows. The amused smile of sorrow round Miss
Heath's mouth became more marked. She came forward a few steps and
stood near Miss Eccleston.

"You must explain yourself, Miss Singleton," repeated the latter lady.

"Do tell everything," said Maggie again.

"Dad is about the only person I hate vexing," began Polly once more.
"He is awfully rich, but he hates me to get into debt, and-- and--
there was no other way to raise money. I couldn't tell dad-- I--
couldn't keep out of debt, so I had to sell my things."

"You have made a very lame excuse, Miss Singleton," said Miss
Eccleston after a pause. "You did something which was extremely
irregular and improper. Your reason for doing it was even worse than
the thing itself. You were in debt. The students of St. Benet's are
not expected to be in debt."

"But there's no rule against it," suddenly interrupted Maggie.

"Hush! your turn to speak will come presently. You know, Miss
Singleton-- all the right-minded girls in this college know-- that we
deal in principles, not rules. Now, please go on with your story."

Polly's broken and confused narrative continued for the next five
minutes. There were some titters from the girls behind her-- even Miss
Heath smiled faintly. Miss Eccleston alone remained grave and
displeased.

"That will do," she said at last. "You are a silly and rash girl, and
your only possible defense is your desire to keep the knowledge of
your extravagance from your father. Your love for him, however, has
never taught you true nobility. Had you that even in the most shadowy
degree, you would abstain from the things which he detests. He gives
you an ample allowance. Were you a schoolgirl and I your mistress, I
should punish you severely for your conduct."

Miss Eccleston paused. Polly put her handkerchief up to her eyes and
began to sob loudly.

"Miss Oliphant," said Miss Eccleston, "will you please account for the
fact that you, who are looked up to in this college, you who are one
of our senior students, and for whom Miss Heath has a high regard,
took part in the disgraceful scenes which occurred in Miss Singleton's
room on Monday evening?"

"I shall certainly tell you the truth," retorted Maggie. She paused
for a moment. Then, the color flooding her cheeks, and her eyes
looking straight before her, she began:

"I went to Miss Singleton's room knowing that I was doing wrong. I
hated to go and did not take the smallest interest in the proceedings
which were being enacted there." She paused again. Her voice, which
had been slightly faltering, grew a little firmer. Her eyes met Miss
Heath's, which were gazing at her in sorrowful and amazed surprise.
Then she continued: "I did not go alone. I took another and perfectly
innocent girl with me. She is a newcomer, and this is her first term.
She would naturally be led by me, and I wish therefore to exonerate
her completely. Her name is Priscilla Peel. She did not buy anything,
and she hated being there even more than I did, but I took her hand
and absolutely forced her to come with me."

"Did you buy anything at the auction, Miss Oliphant?"

"Yes, a sealskin jacket."

"Do you mind telling me what you paid for it?"

"Ten guineas."

"Was that, in your opinion, a fair price for the jacket?"

"The jacket was worth a great deal more. The price I paid for it was
much below its value."

Miss Eccleston made some further notes in her book. Then she looked
up.

"Have you anything more to say, Miss Oliphant?"

"I could say more. I could make you think even worse of me than you
now think, but as any further disclosures of mine would bring another
girl into trouble I would rather not speak."

"You are certainly not forced to speak. I am obliged to you for the
candor with which you have treated me."

Miss Eccleston then turned to Miss Heath and said a few words to her
in a low voice. Her words were not heard by the anxiously listening
girls, but they seemed to displease Miss Heath, who shook her head;
but Miss Eccleston held very firmly to her own opinion. After a pause
of a few minutes, Miss Heath came forward and addressed the young
girls who were assembled before her.

"The leading spirit of this college," she said, "is almost perfect
immunity from the bondage of rules. The principals of these halls have
fully trusted the students who reside in them and relied on their
honor, their rectitude, their sense of sound principle. Hitherto we
have had no reason to complain that the spirit of absolute trust which
we have shown has been abused; but the circumstance which has just
occurred has given Miss Eccleston and myself some pain."

"It has surprised us; it has given us a blow," interrupted Miss
Eccleston.

"And Miss Eccleston feels," proceeded Miss Heath, "and perhaps she is
right, that the matter ought to be laid before the college
authorities, who will decide what are the best steps to be taken."

"You do not agree with that view, do you, Miss Heath?" asked Maggie
Oliphant suddenly.

"At first I did not. I leaned to the side of mercy. I thought you
might all have learned a lesson in the distress which you have caused
us, and that such an occurrence could not happen again."

"Won't Miss Eccleston adopt your views?" questioned Maggie. She
glanced round at her fellow-students as she spoke.

"No-- no," interrupted Miss Eccleston. "I cannot accept the
responsibility. The college authorities must decide the matter."

"Remember," said Maggie, stepping forward a pace or two, "that we are
no children. If we were at school you ought to punish us, and, of
course, you would. I hate what I have done, and I own it frankly. But
you cannot forget, Miss Eccleston, that no girl here has broken a rule
when she attended the auction and bought Miss Singleton's things; and
that even Miss Singleton has broken no rule when she went in debt."

There was a buzz of applause and even a cheer from the girls in the
background. Miss Eccleston looked angry, but perplexed. Miss Heath
again turned and spoke to her. She replied in a low tone. Miss Heath
said something further. At last Miss Eccleston sat down and Miss Heath
came forward and addressed Maggie Oliphant.

"Your words have been scarcely respectful, Miss Oliphant," she said,
"but there is a certain justice in them which my friend, Miss
Eccleston, is the first to admit. She has consented, therefore, to
defer her final decision for twenty-four hours; at the end of that
time the students of Katharine Hall and Heath Hall will know what we
finally decide to do."

After the meeting in Miss Eccleston's drawing-room the affair of the
auction assumed enormous proportions. There was no other topic of
conversation. The students took sides vigorously in the matter: the
gay, giddy and careless ones voting the auction a rare bit of fun and
upholding those who had taken part in it with all their might and
main. The more sober and high-minded girls, on the other hand, took
Miss Heath's and Miss Eccleston's views of the matter. The principles
of the college had been disregarded, the spirit of order had been
broken; debt, which was disgraceful, was made light of. These girls
felt that the tone of St. Benet's was lowered. Even Maggie Oliphant
sank in their estimation. A few went to the length of saying that they
could no longer include her in their set.

Katharine Hall, the scene of the auction itself, was, of course, now
the place of special interest. Heath Hall was also implicated in it,
but Seymour Hall, which stood a little apart from its sister halls,
had sent no student to the scene of dissipation. Seymour Hall was the
smallest of the three. It was completely isolated from the others,
standing in its own lovely grounds on the other side of the road. It
now held its head high, and the girls who belonged to the other halls,
but had taken no part in the auction, felt that their own beloved
halls were lowered, and their resentment was all the keener because
the Seymour Hall girls gave themselves airs.

"I shall never live through it," said Ida Mason, a Heath Hall girl to
her favorite chum, Constance Field. "Nothing can ever be the same
again. If my mother knew, Constance, I feel almost sure she would
remove me. The whole thing is so small and shabby and horrid, and then
to think of Maggie taking part in it! Aren't you awfully shocked,
Constance? What is your true opinion?"

"My true opinion," said Constance, "is this: it is our duty to uphold
our own hall and our own chums. As to the best of us, if we are the
best, going away because a thing of this sort has occurred, it is not
to be thought of for a moment. Why, Ida," Constance laughed as she
spoke, "you might as well expect one of the leading officers to desert
his regiment when going into battle. You know what Maggie Oliphant is,
Ida. As to deserting her because she has had one of her bad half
hours, which she frankly confessed to, like the brave girl she is, I
would as soon cut off my right hand. Now, Ida, my dear, don't be a
little goose. Your part, instead of grumbling and growling and hinting
at the place not being fit for you, is to go round to every friend you
have in Heath Hall and get them to rally round Maggie and Miss Heath."

"There's that poor Miss Peel, too," said Ida, "Maggie's new friend--
that queer, plain girl; she's sure to be frightfully bullied. I
suppose I'd better stick up for her as well?"

"Of course, dear, you certainly ought. But as to Miss Peel being
plain, Ida, I don't think I quite agree with you. Her face is too
clever for that. Have you watched her when she acts?"

"No, I don't think I have. She seems to be very uninteresting."

"Look at her next time, and tell me if you think her uninteresting
afterward. Now I'm off to find Maggie. She is sure to be having one of
her bad times, poor darling."

Constance Field was a girl whose opinion was always received with
respect. Ida went off obediently to fulfil her behests; and Constance,
after searching in Maggie's room and wandering in different parts of
the grounds, found the truant at last, comfortably established with a
pile of new books and magazines in the library. The library was the
most comfortable room in the house, and Maggie was leaning back
luxuriously in an easy-chair, reading some notes from a lecture on
Aristotle aloud to Prissie, who sat at her feet and took down notes of
her own from Maggie's lips.

The two looked up anything but gratefully when Constance approached.
Miss Field, however, was not a person to be dismissed with a light and
airy word, and Maggie sighed and closed her book when Constance sat
down in an armchair, which she pulled close to her. There were no
other girls in the library, and Prissie, seeing that Miss Field
intended to be confidential, looked at Maggie with a disconsolate air.

"Perhaps I had better go up to my own room," she said timidly.

Maggie raised her brows and spoke in an impatient voice.

"You are in no one's way, Priscilla," she said. "Here are my notes
from the lecture. I read to the end of this page; you can make out the
rest for yourself. Well, Constance, have you anything to say?"

"Not unless you want to hear me," said Miss Field in her dignified
manner.

Maggie tried to stifle a yawn.

"Oh, my dear Connie, I'm always charmed, you know that."

"Well, I thought I'd like to tell you that I admired the way you spoke
last night."

"Were you present?"

"No, but some friends of mine were. They repeated the whole thing
verbatim."

"Oh, you heard it second-hand. Highly colored, no doubt, and not the
least like its poor original."

Maggie spoke with a kind of bitter, defiant sarcasm, and a delicate
color came into Miss Field's cheeks.

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