Annie Day ran off, and Maggie stood by the open window looking out at the starry night.  Her head ached; her pulses beat; she felt sick and tired.  The noise and laughter which filled the gaily thronged rooms were all discordant to her—­ she wished she had not come.  A voice close by made her start—­ a hand not only clasped hers, but held it firmly for a moment.  She looked up and said with a sudden impulse, “Oh, Geoffrey!  I am glad you are here.”  Then, with a burning blush, she withdrew her hand from Hammond’s.

“Can I help you?” he asked.  His heart was beating fast; her words were tingling in his ears, but his tone was quiet.  “Can I help you?” he repeated.  “Here is a seat.”  He pulled a chair from behind a curtain, and Maggie dropped into it.

“Something is wrong,” she said; “something dreadful has happened.”

“May I know what it is?”

“I don’t think I have any right to tell you.  It is connected with the college; but it has given me a blow, and I was tired beforehand.  I came here against my will, and now I don’t want to talk to any one.”

“That can be easily managed.  I will stand here and keep off all intruders.”

“Thank you.”  Maggie put her hand to her forehead.

The headache, which had scarcely left her for a fortnight, was now so acute that all her thoughts were confused; she felt as if she were walking in a dream.  It seemed perfectly right and natural that Hammond should stand by her side and protect her from the crowd; it seemed natural to her at that moment, natural and even right to appeal to him.

After a long pause he said: 

“I am afraid I also have bad news!”

“How?”

“I went to see my uncle, Mr. Hayes.”

“Yes; it was good of you—­ I remember.”

“I failed in my mission.  Mr. Hayes says that Miss Peel, our Prissie’s aunt, would rather die than accept help from any one.”

“Oh, how obstinate some people are!” replied Maggie wearily.  “Happiness, help and succor come to their very door and they turn these good things away.”

“That is true,” replied Hammond.  “I am firmly convinced,” he added, “that the good angel of happiness is within the reach of most of us once at least in our lives, but for a whim—­ often for a mere whim—­ we tell him to go.”

Maggie’s face grew very white.  “I must say ‘good-by’:  I am going home,” she said, rising.  Then she added, looking full at Hammond, “Sometimes it is necessary to reject happiness; and necessity ought not to be spoken of as a whim.”

CHAPTER XXX

 “If I had known you sooner”

As Maggie was leaving the crowded drawing-room she came face to face with Rosalind.  One of those impulses which always guided her, more or less, made her stop suddenly and put her hand on the young girl’s shoulder.