“Yes.”

“Will you be my friend and shall I be your friend?”

“If you would,” said Prissie.  “But you don’t mean it.  It is impossible that you can mean it.  I’m not a bit like you—­ and—­ and—­ you only say these things to be kind.”

“What do you mean, Priscilla?”

“I must tell you,” said Prissie, turning very pale.  “I heard what you said to Miss Banister the night I came to the college.”

“What I said to Miss Banister?  What did I say?”

“Oh, can’t you remember?  The words seemed burnt into me:  I shall never forget them.  I had left my purse in the dining-hall, and I was going to fetch it.  Your door was a little open.  I heard my name, and I stopped—­ yes, I did stop to listen.”

“Oh, what a naughty, mean little Prissie!  You stopped to listen.  And what did you hear?  Nothing good, of course?  The bad thing was said to punish you for listening.”

“I heard,” said Priscilla, her own cheeks crimson now, “I heard you say that it gave you an aesthetic pleasure to be kind, and that was why you were good to me.”

Maggie felt her own color rising.

“Well, my dear,” she said, “it still gives me an aesthetic pleasure to be kind.  You could not expect me to fall in love with you the moment I saw you.  I was kind to you then, perhaps, for the reason I stated.  It is very different now.”

“It was wrong of you to be kind to me for that reason.”

“Wrong of me?  What an extraordinary girl you are, Priscilla—­ why was it wrong of me?”

“Because I learned to love you.  You were gentle to me and spoke courteously when others were rude and only laughed; my whole heart went out to you when you were so sweet and gentle and kind.  I did not think—­ I could not possibly think—­ that you were good just because it gave you a sort of selfish pleasure.  When I heard your words I felt dreadful.  I hated St. Benet’s; I wished I had never come.  Your words turned everything to bitterness for me.”

“Did they really, Priscilla?  Oh, Prissie! what a thoughtless, wild, impulsive creature I am.  Well, I don’t feel now as I did that night.  If those words were cruel, forgive me.  Forget those words, Prissie.”

“I will if you will.”

“I?  I have forgotten them utterly.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

“Then we’ll be friends—­ real friends; true friends?”

Yes.”

“You must say Yes, Maggie.’”

“Yes, Maggie.”

“That is right.  Now keep your hand in my arm.  Let’s walk fast.  Is it not glorious to walk in this semi-frosty sort of weather?  Prissie, you’ll see a vast lot that you don’t approve of in your new friend.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” said Priscilla.

She felt so joyous she could have skipped.

“I’ve as many sides,” continued Maggie, “as a chamelon has colors.  I am the gayest of the gay, as well as the saddest of the sad.  When I am gay you may laugh with me, but I warn you when I am sad you must never cry with me.  Leave me alone when I have my dark moods on, Prissie.”