A Sweet Girl Graduate by L. T. Meade (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖

society had a grand meeting on the day of Polly Singleton’s auction. Matters were still very much in a state of chaos, but the rehearsal of some of the parts was got through with credit under the directions of the clever stage-manager, one of the nicest and best girls in the college, Constance Field. She had a knack of putting each girl at her ease— of discovering the faintest sparks of genius and fanning them into flame.

Priscilla had learned her speeches accurately: her turn came; she stood up trembling and began. Gradually the stony (or was it yearning?) look in Maggie’s face moved her. She fancied herself Hammond, not the Prince. When she spoke to Maggie she felt no longer like a feeble schoolgirl acting a part. She thought she was pleading for Hammond, and enthusiasm got into her voice, and a light filled her eyes. There was a little cheer when Priscilla got through her first rehearsal. Nancy Banister came up to Rosalind.

“I do believe Maggie is right,” she said, “and that Miss Peel will take the part capitally.”

“Miss Oliphant is well known for her magnanimity,” retorted Rosalind, an ugly look spoiling the expression of her face.

“Her magnanimity? What do you mean, Rose?”

“To choose that girl for her Prince!” retorted Rosalind. “Ask Mr. Hammond what I mean. Ask the Elliot-Smiths.”

“I don’t know the Elliot-Smiths,” said Nancy in a cold voice. She turned away; she felt displeased and annoyed.

Rose glanced after her. Then she ran up to Maggie Oliphant, who was preparing to leave the little theater.

“Don’t you want to see the auction?” she said in a gay voice. “It’s going to be the best fun we have had for many a long day.”

Maggie turned and looked at her.

“The auction? What auction do you mean?” she asked.

“Why, Polly Singleton’s, of course. You’ve not heard of it? It’s the event of the term!”

Maggie laughed.

“You must be talking nonsense, Rose,” she said. “An auction at St. Benet’s! A real auction? Impossible!”

“No, it’s not impossible. It’s true. Polly owes for a lot of things, and she’s going to pay for them in that way. Did you not get a notice? Polly declared she would send one without fail to every girl in the college.”

“Now I remember,” said Miss Oliphant, laughing. “I got an extraordinary type-written production. I regarded it as a hoax and consigned it to the wastepaper basket.”

“But it wasn’t a hoax; it was true. Come away, Miss Oliphant, do. Polly has got some lovely things.”

“I don’t think I even know who Polly is,” said Maggie. “She surely is not an inmate of Heath Hall?”

“No, no— of Katharine Hall. You must know her by sight, at least. A great big, fat girl, with red hair and freckles.”

“Yes, now I remember. I think she has rather a pleasant face.”

“Oh, do you really? Isn’t she awfully common and vulgar-looking?”

“Common and vulgar-looking people are often pleasant, nevertheless,” retorted Maggie.

“You’ll come to her auction?” insisted Rose.

“I don’t know. She has no right to have an auction. Such a proceeding would give great displeasure to our principals.”

“How can you tell that? There never was an auction at the college before.”

“How can I tell, Rose? Instinct is my guide in a matter of this sort.”

Maggie stepped back and looked haughty.

“Well,” said Rose, “the principals won’t ever know; we are taking good care of that.”

“Oh! I hope you may be successful. Good night.”

Maggie turned to walk away. She saw Priscilla standing not far off.

“Come, Prissie,” she said affectionately, “you did admirably to-night, but you must have another lesson. You missed two of the best points in that last speech. Come back with me into the theater at once.”

Rose bit her lips with vexation. She was wildly anxious to be at the auction. The sealskin might be put up for sale, and she not present. The corals might go to some other happy girl; but she had made a resolve to bring some of the very best girls in the college to this scene of rioting. Her reckless companions had dared her to do this, and she felt what she called “her honor” at stake. Nancy Banister had declined her invitation with decision; Constance Field had withered her with a look. Now she must secure Maggie.

“I wish you’d come,” she said, following Maggie and Prissie to the door of the theater. “It will be an awful disappointment if you don’t! We all reckoned on having you.”

“What do you mean, Rose?”

“We thought you wouldn’t be above a bit of fun. You never used to be, you know. You never used to be strict and proper and over-righteous, used you?”

Priscilla was startled to see the queer change these few words made on Maggie. Her cheeks lost their roses; her eyes grew big, pathetic, miserable. Then a defiant expression filled them.

“If you put it in that way,” she said, “I’ll go and peep at the thing. It isn’t my taste nor my style, but goodness knows I’m no better than the rest of you. Come, Prissie.”

Maggie seized Priscilla’s hand; her clasp was so tight as to be almost painful. She hurried Prissie along so fast that Rose could scarcely keep up with them.

They entered the hall. Maggie seized a hat for herself and another for Prissie from the hat-stand; then the three girls crossed the garden to Katharine Hall. A moment or two later they had reached the scene of the evening’s amusement

Loud voices and laughter greeted them; they entered a large room crowded to overflowing. The atmosphere here was hot and stifling and chaos reigned supreme. Pictures, ornaments of all kinds had been removed roughly and hastily from the walls; clothes and even jewels were piled on the tables, and a tall girl, standing on a chair, was declaiming volubly for the benefit of her companions.

When Maggie, Rose and Priscilla entered the room Polly was exhibiting the charms of a yellow silk dress somewhat the worse for wear. Laughter choked her voice; her bright blue eyes shone with excitement and amusement.

“Who’ll try this?” she began. “It has a double charm. Not only has it reposed round this fair and lovely form, but the silk of which it is made was given to me by my mother’s aunt, who had it from her mother before her. When I part with this, I part with a relic. Those who purchase it secure for themselves a piece of history. Who will buy, who will buy, who will buy? An historical dress going— such a bargain! Who, who will buy?”

“I’ll give you five shillings, Polly,” screamed a darkeyed girl who stood near.

“Five shillings! This lovely dress going for five shillings!” proceeded Polly.

“And sixpence,” added another voice.

“This beautiful, historical robe going for five-and-sixpence,” said Miss Singleton in her gay voice. “Oh, it’s a bargain— it’s dirt cheap! Who will buy? who will buy?”

The bids went up, and finally the yellow dress was knocked down to a rosy-faced country girl for the sum of thirteen shillings and ninepence.

Polly’s various other possessions were one by one brought to the hammer, some of them fetching fairly large sums, for they were most of them good and worth having, and there were wealthy girls at the college who were not above securing a bargain when it came in their way.

At last the prize on which all Rose’s hopes were set was put up for sale. Polly’s magnificent sealskin jacket was held aloft and displayed to the admiring and coveteous gaze of many. Rose’s face brightened; an eager, greedy look filled her eyes. She actually trembled in her anxiety to secure this prize of prizes.

Maggie Oliphant, who was standing in a listless, indifferent attitude near the door, not taking the smallest part in the active proceedings which were going forward, was for the first time aroused to interest by the expression on Rosalind’s face. She moved a step or two into the crowd, and when one or two timid bids were heard for the coveted treasure, she raised her own voice and for the first time appeared eager to secure something for herself.

Rose bid against her, an angry flush filling her blue eyes as she did so. Maggie nonchalantly made her next bid a little higher— Rose raised hers. Soon they were the only two in the field; other girls had come to the limit of their purses and withdrew vanquished.

Rosalind’s face grew very white. Could she have knock Maggie Oliphant down with a blow she would have done so at that moment. Maggie calmly and quietly continued her bids, raising them gradually higher and higher. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten pounds: Rose had come to the end of her resources. She stepped away with a bitter smile on her face. The sealskin jacket was Maggie Oliphant’s property for ten guineas.

Maggie laid it carelessly on a table near, and returning once more to her position near the door, watched the sale proceed. One by one Polly Singleton parted with her dresses, her pictures, her furniture. At last, opening a case, she proceeded to dispose of some trinkets, none of which, with the exception of the pink coral set, was of very high value. This, which consisted of necklace, bracelets, and earrings, and some pretty pins for the hair, was most eagerly coveted by many. Several girls bid for the coral, and Maggie, who had not raised her voice since she secured the sealskin jacket, once more noticed the greedy glitter in Rosalind’s eyes.

“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.