A Sweet Girl Graduate | Page 9

remember Annabel's rocking-chair, and how she used to
sway herself backward and forward in it and half-shut her lovely eyes?"
"Oh, and don't I just seem to see that little red tea-table of hers near the
fire," burst from Miss Marsh. "That Japanese table, with the Japanese
tea-set-- oh dear, oh dear! those cups of tea-- those cakes! Well, the
room was luxurious, was worth coming to see in Annabel's time."
"It's more than it is now," laughed Miss Jones in a harsh voice. "How
bare the walls look without her pictures. It was in that recess the large
figure of Hope by Burne-Jones used to hang, and there, that queer, wild,

wonderful head looking out of clouds. You know she never would tell
us the artist's name. Yes, she had pretty things everywhere! How the
room is altered! I don't think I care for it a bit now."
"Could any one who knew Annabel Lee care for the room without
her?" asked one of the girls. She had a common, not to say vulgar, face,
but it wore a wistful expression as she uttered these words.
All this time Priscilla was standing, feeling utterly shy and miserable.
From time to time other girls came in; they nodded to her and then
rushed upon their companions. The eager talk began afresh, and always
there were looks of regret and allusions, accompanied by sighs, to the
girl who had lived in the room last.
"Well," said one merry little girl, who was spoken to by the others as
Ada Hardy, "I have no doubt that by and by, when Miss----" She
glanced toward Priscilla.
"Peel," faltered Priscilla.
"When Miss Peel unpacks her trunk, she'll make the room look very
pretty, too."
"She can't," said Miss Day in a tragic voice; "she never could make the
room look at it used to-- not if she was to live till the age of Methuselah.
Of course you'll improve it, Miss Peel; you couldn't possibly exist in it
as it is now."
"I can tell you of a capital shop in Kingsdene, Miss Peel," said Miss
Marsh, "where you can buy tables and chairs, and pretty artistic cloths,
and little whatnots of all descriptions. I'd advise you to go to Rigg's.
He's in the High Street, No. 48."
"But Spilman has much the most recherche' articles, you know, Lucy,"
interposed Miss Day. "I'll walk over to Spilman's to-morrow with you,
if you like, Miss Peel."
Before Priscilla had time to reply there was again a knock at the door,

and this time Nancy Banister, looking flushed and pretty, came in.
She took in the scene at a glance; numbers of girls making themselves
at home in Priscilla's room, some seated on her trunk, some on her
bureau, several curled up in comfortable attitudes on her bed and she
herself standing, meek, awkward, depressed, near one of the windows.
"How tired you look, Miss Peel!" said Nancy Banister.
Priscilla smiled gratefully at her.
"And your trunk is not unpacked yet?"
"Oh! there is time enough," faltered Priscilla.
"Are we in your way?" suddenly spoke Miss Marsh, springing to her
feet. "Good night. My name is Marsh, my room is thirty-eight."
She swung herself lazily and carelessly out of the room, followed, at
longer or shorter intervals, by the other girls, who all nodded to
Priscilla, told her their names and one or two the numbers of their
rooms. At last she was left alone with Nancy Banister.
"Poor thing! How tired and white you look!" said Nancy. "But now that
dreadful martyrdom is over, you shall have a real cozy time. Don't you
want a nice hot cup of cocoa? It will be ready in a minute or two. And
please may I help you to unpack?"
"Thank you," said Priscilla; her teeth were chattering. "If I might have a
fire?" she asked suddenly.
"Oh, you poor, shivering darling! Of course. Are there no matches here?
There were some on the mantel-piece before dinner. No, I declare they
have vanished. How careless of the maid. I'll run into Maggie's room
and fetch some."
Miss Banister was not a minute away. She returned with a box of
matches, and, stooping down, set a light to the wood, and a pleasant
fire was soon blazing and crackling merrily.

"Now, isn't that better?" said Nancy. "Please sit down on your bed and
give me the key of your trunk. I'll soon have the things out and put all
to rights for you. I'm a splendid unpacker."
But Priscilla had no desire to have her small and meager wardrobe
overhauled even by the kindest of St. Benet's girls.
"I will unpack presently myself, if you don't mind," she said. She felt
full of gratitude, but she could not help an almost surly