Chapter Seventeen.The Auction.The next day Darsie and Hannah were interviewed by their several coaches, male and female, received instructions as to their future work, and had the excitement of witnessing the return of the second and third year girls, whose manner was strikingly different from that of the modest Freshers. Dinner that evening was more of an ordeal than ever, with a galaxy of such assured, not to say aggressive, young women, staring with all their eyes at their new companions, and, to judge from the expressions on their faces, forming the meanest opinion of their intelligence!Hannah Vernon was of all the Freshers the least upset by their scrutiny, but then plain Hannah was proverbially thick-skinned about the opinion of others.“Let ’em stare if it amuses ’em—Idon’t mind! Long time since I’ve been so much admired,” she returned composedly to Darsie’s indignant whisper. “Every dog has its day. Wait till it’sourturn! I’ll wear specs for that day—if I never do again, and glare over them like our friend in green. I’ve been taking notes, and her glare is worth all the rest put together. I feel sure she sees into my pocket, and knows exactly how much there is in my purse. Perhaps she’s jealous of you. You’re the prettiest girl here—old or new!”“Oh, am I?Nice!” cried Darsie, dimpling. She peered around the tables, examining the faces of the girls within sight with an appraising eye, compared them with the reflection which looked back at her out of her own mirror, and felt an agreeable sense of conviction. There was one slim, dark-eyed girl with a bright rose flush on her cheeks, as to whose claim she felt a moment’s uncertainty, but when she turned her head—lo, a nose was revealed soaring so unbecomingly skyward that Darsie breathed again. Yes! she was the prettiest. Now if she could just manage to be the most popular also, and, not the cleverest, of course—that wastoomuch to expect—but well in the front rank, how agreeable it would be, to be sure!The dining-hall looked much more cheery tonight, when the long table was surrounded by over sixty students in their brightly coloured dresses; the buzz of conversation rose steadily throughout the meal, and by the time that coffee was served curiosity seemed satisfied, for the staring had come to an end.“I think you must be Dan Vernon’s sister. May I introduce myself? I am Helen Ross.” A tall girl, with brown hair brushed low over her ears, stood beside Hannah’s chair, holding out her hand with an air of assurance which plainly intimated that the mention of her name was expected to arouse instant recognition. Hannah, who had never heard it before, and was not skilled in the art of pretence, stared back in blank surprise.“Oh–h! Really? Yes, I’m Hannah Vernon. This is my friend Miss Garnett.”Helen Ross nicked her eyelashes at Darsie by way of a bow, but bestowed no spoken greeting.“Rather beastly, the first day, isn’t it?” she drawled, turning to Hannah once more. “Feel such a pelican in the wilderness, wandering about, not knowing what to be after next. Make me useful, do! I’d like to be useful. Told your brother I’d show you the ropes. Did you get your milk last night? Half a pint each is your allowance. You get it from the pantry directly after dinner, and take it upstairs for cocoa. Have you discovered your gyp-room yet?”Hannah stolidly shook her head, whereupon Miss Ross proceeded to further explanations. The gyp-room was a species of pantry, one of which was to be found on each corridor, whence cups, saucers, and other utensils for the preparation of the famous ten o’clock “cocoas” could be obtained. You helped yourself, don’t you know, and you took the things back when you had done with them, but you didn’t wash them up. The gyp-room owned a presiding dignitary of its own who was known as the “gyp-woman,” who obligingly performed that service. Then Miss Ross expressed a wish to see Hannah’s room, and the three girls ascended the stairs together, and the two Freshers stood by meekly while the two-year girl indulged in candid criticism.“Humph! Not so bad. Rather a barn at present, but it’ll look all right when you’ve fixed it up. Always takes a few days to settle down, but one lives in one’s room so much that it’s worth taking pains. You can get no end into the coffin, that’s one blessing!”“Coffin!” Hannah and Darsie jerked at the ominous word, whereupon Miss Ross smiled with complacent superiority.“Ah! of course, you don’t know that name. The chest’s the ‘coffin,’ and you keep hats in it, likewise odd boxes, and evening cloaks, and other perishable splendours. Every one calls them coffins, so you’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid; and the bureau’s a ‘burry,’ and the screen’s a ‘farce,’ and a topply one at that. You’ll have to buy another to take its place. They neverdosupply you with decent screens. By the way, there’s an auction on to-night! Did any one tell you? That’s your chance of picking up the things you want. It’s held in the Gym. at ten o’clock, and is not bad fun. I’ll come along and take you, if you’d care to go.”“Thanks. Yes, I’d like to see everything that’s going on. What sort of things are for sale?”“All sorts of discards that have been left behind by other girls—screens, bed-covers, curtains, china flower-pots, chairs, kettles, pictures. Sometimes there’s quite a fine show.”“Sounds attractive! And who is the auctioneer?”“A second-year girl—the one who is credited with the greatest amount of wit.”There was a moment’s silence while the two Freshers each mentally leaped a year ahead, and saw herself in this proud and enviable position.“Who’s the one to-night?”“Margaret France.” Miss Ross’s lips curled expressively. “I hope you won’t judge us by her standard. She’s certainly not the one whomIshould have chosen to fill the position!”Silence again, while the Freshers reflected that they knew very well whom Miss Helen Ross would have chosen if she had had the chance, and were glad that she hadn’t.“Well, I’ll call round about ten. Make up your fire, and be comfortable. You’re allowed a scuttle of coals a day, and let me warn you touseit! If it’s not all burnt, keep a few lumps in a convenient cache—a box under the bed will do. It comes in handy for another day, and when it gets really cold you can stoke up at night and have a fire to dress by in the morning. The authorities don’t approve of that—they say it’s bad for the stoves. Personally I consider myself before any stoves.”She nodded casually and strode from the room, leaving the two friends divided between gratitude for her kindness and prejudice against her personality.“Don’t like her a bit, do you?”“Humph. So-so! Means well, I think. Wonder how she knows Dan? He never mentioned her name.”“Not atallthe sort of girl Dan would care for! Such a bumptious manner. A good many of them have, I observe. Fearfully self-possessed. Perhaps it’s a special effort to impress the Freshers. She didn’t take much notice of me, but I’m coming with you all the same to buy fixings for my room, and hear the second-year auctioneer. Call for me when you’re ready, like a dear. I’m off now to read until ten o’clock.”Darsie shut herself in her room, and set to work at her burry with all the ardour of a beginner, so that the hour and a half passed like a flash, and it seemed as if she had scarcely begun before Hannah’s solid bang sounded at the door, and she went out into the corridor to follow Helen Ross to the Gym.The auction had already begun, and the auctioneer, a fresh-looking girl with grey eyes planted extraordinarily far apart, was engaged in extolling the excellencies of an aged kettle to a laughing circle of girls. She wore a black dress cut square at the neck, and a rose-coloured ribbon twined round her head. She held out the kettle at the length of a bare white arm, and raised her clear voice in delightful imitation of the professional wheedle.“Friends and Freshers! We now come to Lot Three, one of the most striking and interesting on the catalogue. A kettle, ladies, is always a useful article, but this is no ordinary kettle. We have it on unimpeachable authority that this kettle was the kettle in residence at the establishment of our late colleague Miss Constantia Lawson, the Senior Classic of her year! The kettle of a Senior Classic, Freshers! The kettle which has ministered to her refreshment, which has been, in the language of the poem, the fount of her inspiration! What price shall I say, ladies, for the kettle of a Senior Classic? Sixpence! Did somebody say sixpence!For the kettle of a Senior Classic! Eightpence! Thank you, madam. For the kettleof a— What advance on eightpence? Freshers would do well to consider this opportunity before it is too late. What an—aninebriatingeffect, if I may use the word without offence to the late lamented poet, would be added to the cup that cheers by the thought that the same handle, the same spout, the same—er—er—furry deposit in the inside, have ministered to the refreshment of one of the master spirits of our day! Going at eightpence—eightpence-halfpenny—I thank you, madam! At tenpence! No advance on tenpence? Going—going—gone!”The hammer descended with a rap, the auctioneer leaned back with an air of exhaustion, and handed the kettle to her clerk, in blue silk and crystal beads.“Lady to the right. Tell the lady, Joshua, that the small hole in the bottom can easily be soldered by an obliging ironmonger, or, if she prefers, she can hang the kettle on the wall as an object of vertu!”Peals of laughter greeted this tragic disclosure. The lady to the right refused for some minutes to hand over her tenpence, but finally succumbed to the feeling of the meeting, when a crumpled cotton bed-cover was next produced for sale.“Lot Four. Handsome Oriental bedspread—design of peacocks, vultures, and pear-trees, in gorgeous colourings. Encircling border on a background of blizzard white, and corner pieces complete. Eight feet by three. Joshua! carry the bedspread round and allow the ladies to examine it for themselves. It is excessively hurtful to our feelings when purchasers imply that deception has been practised in order to induce them to purchase our goods. Show the ladies the spread! Pure cotton, ladies. Fast colours. Design by Alma Tadema, in his happiest mood. You could not possibly purchase such a spread in any establishment, ladies, under the sum of two-and-six. Fine Oriental goods, warranted to impart an air of opulence to the humblest bedstead. Any Fresher wishing to give the last touch of costly elegance to her room should not neglect this opportunity. What am I to say, ladies, for this handsome spread? Sixpence again! Thank you, madam! Sixpences seem in the ascendant to-night. Let us hope the collections on Sunday next will benefit from the ensuing dearth. Ninepence!Atninepence. Pardon, madam? The lady in the eyeglasses wishes to make a remark, Joshua. The lady in the eyeglasses remarks that one side of the spread has been torn. The lady is evidently unaware that that fact is a proof positive of the authenticity of the spread. No Eastern article, as all travellers are aware, isevereven at both sides.” Another burst of laughter greeted this point. The auctioneer showed her pretty white teeth in a complacent smile, her wide grey eyes roved round the room, and met Darsie’s eyes raised to her in beaming admiration.“One-and-six did you say, madam?” she cried instantly. “Did I understand you to say one-and-six? The opportunity will never occur again. At one-and-six for the lady in violet. Take the name and address if you please, Joshua.” And Darsie, with a shrug and a laugh, paid out her one-and-six, and received in return the blizzard-white cover, ornamented with a roughly mended tear all along one side.The next articles offered for sale were framed pictures of various sizes which had evidently not been considered worth the trouble of removing. Water-colour sketches by ’prentice hands, faded photographs, or pretty-pretty prints evidently torn from the pages of magazines. The auctioneer exerted all the blandishments to induce the Freshers to purchase these masterpieces, and deplored their scant response with pathetic reproaches.“Nobids for this tasty little picture? Ladies, ladies, this is a great mistake! In the midst of your arduous brain toil, what could be more soothing and refreshing than to gaze upon this charming pastoral scene? This azure earth, this verdant sky, this lovely maid who combined in her person all the simpering charms of youth, and never, for one misguided moment, troubled her ochre head over the acquirement of that higher knowledge which, as we all know, is the proud prerogative of man! What price shall I say for ‘The Maiden’s Dream’?Nobids! Put it down if you please, Joshua. We have no art collectors with us to-night. Let me have the Botticelli for a change.”The clerk in blue silk handed up another picture in a rickety Oxford frame, at which the auctioneer gazed rapturously for several moments before turning it towards her audience.“Number Six on the catalogue. Genuine photograph of a Botticelli from the collection of Miss Eva Dalgleish. Attention, Freshers, if you please! This is an item of serious importance. The presence of a Botticelli bestows at once the air of culture and refinement without which no study is worthy of the name. A genuine photograph of a Botticelli, purchased by the owner in the Italian city of Florence, and borne home by her own fair hands, as the crack across the corner will give proof. In an Oxford frame—a compliment to our sister University—glazed and complete, with hanging loops and fragment of wire.Whatoffers for the Botticelli? Any Fresher who wishes to prove herself endowed with refined and artistic—One shilling? Thank you, madam.Andsixpence! One and nine. One and nine for this genuine Botticelli. Ladies, ladies, this is a sad day for Newnham. And nine—and nine. Going. Going—gone!”It was Hannah who had testified to her own artistic qualities by purchasing this photograph. She tucked it proudly under her arm, and turned an envious eye on a brass flower-pot which was now engaging the auctioneer’s attention. A simultaneous movement of the audience showed that this was an article on which many hopes had been set, and bidding promised to be brisk.“Now, ladies, we come to one of the principal events of the evening, the bidding for this very rich and magnificent brass, hand-beaten, richly-chased, Oriental, ornamental flower-pot. We have several flower-pots in our catalogue, but none to be compared for one moment to the very superior article which you now see before you. It is safe to say that no student, even in her third year, can boast of a flower-pot to equal this lot in either quality or design. The possession of it will in itself ensure fame for its fortunate owner. Let me have a handsome bid, if you please, ladies, to start this valuable article. Half a crown!!! A lady, whose ignorance we can only deplore, offers me half a crown for a genuine antique brass! I am thankful that in such a large and enlightened audience such an error is not likely to be repeated. Three shillings.Thankyou, madam. And six. Four shillings—four shillings. Freshers who neglect to take advantage of this opportunity will be compelled to content themselves with one of these common china articles to my left. A flowerpot is a necessary article of furniture without which no room is complete. What is home without an aspidistra? You laugh, ladies, but you can find no answer to that question. And six! Five shillings! The raw material for this masterpiece must have cost many times this sum. Five—five—no advance on five. The lady in green, Joshua. Take the lady’s address!”The auctioneer put up her hand to her head and patted the rose-coloured ribbon into place. Inspired by the laughing appreciation of her sallies, her cheeks had flushed to the same bright shade, and with her sparkling eyes and alert, graceful movements she made a delightful and attractive figure, at which the Freshers stared in undisguised delight.“I adore her!” whispered Darsie in her friend’s ear.“Decent sort!” croaked Hannah the undemonstrative, and then by a common impulse their glance passed on to rest on Helen Ross’s set, supercilious face.“I loathe her,” came the second whisper.“Mean thing—jealousy!” croaked Hannah once more, and turned her attention to the business in hand.After the china flower-pots had been disposed of, a trio of basket-chairs gave an impetus to the bidding, as the truth of the auctioneer’s words went home to every heart.“‘Three luxurious basket-chairs, cushioned complete in handsome cretonne, stuffed pure wool. Condition—as new.’ Ladies, in these basket-chairs you see not only elegant articles of furniture, but a solution of the dilemma which dogs every owner of a one-comfortable-chair study. One question haunts her waking and sleeping hours; one problem embitters the most social occasions—‘Shall I be comfortable or polite?’ To this question, in this college of Newnham, there can, ladies, be but one reply—and the wretched hostess sits on the coal-box and gives her visitor the chair. After long hours of mental toil, after the physical strain of the hockey-field, a quiet hour is vouchsafed beside her own fireside, with the companionship of a beloved friend to soothe and cheer, and that hour, ladies—that precious hour—I say it with emotion almost too strong for words—that stolen hour of peace and rest must needs be passed—on the coal-box! Ladies, I need say no more. The remedy is in your own hands.”So on, and so on. After the chairs came curtains; after the curtains, bookcases, ornaments, and books. The auction flowed on, punctuated by explosions of laughter, until the last item on the “catalogue” was reached, and the auctioneer was crimson with exhaustion.Darsie and Hannah had amassed between them quite a stock of furnishings. A screen apiece, chairs, Oriental window-curtains in stripes of contrasting colours warm and comfortable to look upon, flower-pots, and odd pictures and ornaments. One felt a proprietor, indeed, as one looked over the spoils, and the inroads into capital had been agreeably small. Darsie was folding up her damaged “spread” when a voice spoke in her ear, and with a little jump of the heart she looked up to find Margaret France standing by her side.“How do you do? I must thank you for your patronage. You chipped in nobly. Hope you’ll like ’em, when you’ve got ’em. Just up, aren’t you? What’s your shop?”For a moment Darsie stared blankly, then a flash of intuition revealed the meaning of the word.“Modern languages.”“Good! So’m I. And your friend?”“Mathematics.”“Humph! Well, good luck! I’m off to bed. We shall meet on the Rialto!”She smiled, nodded, and was gone. With a sudden realisation of their own fatigue the Freshers turned to follow her example. Helen Ross joined them on their way along the corridors, and Darsie could not resist expressing her appreciation of the auctioneer’s wit.“She was delicious. Ihaveenjoyed it. Sheisamusing and clever.”“Think so?” said Helen coolly. “Really? Glad you were pleased. It’s usuallyfarbetter than that!”With a curt good-night she turned into her own room, and the two friends made haste to follow her example.The banked-up fires burned warm and red; the scattered oddments had been hidden from sight in the “coffin’s” rapacious maw; photographs and knick-knacks gave a homy look to the rooms which had looked so bare and bleak twenty-four hours before. The Freshers tumbled into bed and fell happily asleep.
The next day Darsie and Hannah were interviewed by their several coaches, male and female, received instructions as to their future work, and had the excitement of witnessing the return of the second and third year girls, whose manner was strikingly different from that of the modest Freshers. Dinner that evening was more of an ordeal than ever, with a galaxy of such assured, not to say aggressive, young women, staring with all their eyes at their new companions, and, to judge from the expressions on their faces, forming the meanest opinion of their intelligence!
Hannah Vernon was of all the Freshers the least upset by their scrutiny, but then plain Hannah was proverbially thick-skinned about the opinion of others.
“Let ’em stare if it amuses ’em—Idon’t mind! Long time since I’ve been so much admired,” she returned composedly to Darsie’s indignant whisper. “Every dog has its day. Wait till it’sourturn! I’ll wear specs for that day—if I never do again, and glare over them like our friend in green. I’ve been taking notes, and her glare is worth all the rest put together. I feel sure she sees into my pocket, and knows exactly how much there is in my purse. Perhaps she’s jealous of you. You’re the prettiest girl here—old or new!”
“Oh, am I?Nice!” cried Darsie, dimpling. She peered around the tables, examining the faces of the girls within sight with an appraising eye, compared them with the reflection which looked back at her out of her own mirror, and felt an agreeable sense of conviction. There was one slim, dark-eyed girl with a bright rose flush on her cheeks, as to whose claim she felt a moment’s uncertainty, but when she turned her head—lo, a nose was revealed soaring so unbecomingly skyward that Darsie breathed again. Yes! she was the prettiest. Now if she could just manage to be the most popular also, and, not the cleverest, of course—that wastoomuch to expect—but well in the front rank, how agreeable it would be, to be sure!
The dining-hall looked much more cheery tonight, when the long table was surrounded by over sixty students in their brightly coloured dresses; the buzz of conversation rose steadily throughout the meal, and by the time that coffee was served curiosity seemed satisfied, for the staring had come to an end.
“I think you must be Dan Vernon’s sister. May I introduce myself? I am Helen Ross.” A tall girl, with brown hair brushed low over her ears, stood beside Hannah’s chair, holding out her hand with an air of assurance which plainly intimated that the mention of her name was expected to arouse instant recognition. Hannah, who had never heard it before, and was not skilled in the art of pretence, stared back in blank surprise.
“Oh–h! Really? Yes, I’m Hannah Vernon. This is my friend Miss Garnett.”
Helen Ross nicked her eyelashes at Darsie by way of a bow, but bestowed no spoken greeting.
“Rather beastly, the first day, isn’t it?” she drawled, turning to Hannah once more. “Feel such a pelican in the wilderness, wandering about, not knowing what to be after next. Make me useful, do! I’d like to be useful. Told your brother I’d show you the ropes. Did you get your milk last night? Half a pint each is your allowance. You get it from the pantry directly after dinner, and take it upstairs for cocoa. Have you discovered your gyp-room yet?”
Hannah stolidly shook her head, whereupon Miss Ross proceeded to further explanations. The gyp-room was a species of pantry, one of which was to be found on each corridor, whence cups, saucers, and other utensils for the preparation of the famous ten o’clock “cocoas” could be obtained. You helped yourself, don’t you know, and you took the things back when you had done with them, but you didn’t wash them up. The gyp-room owned a presiding dignitary of its own who was known as the “gyp-woman,” who obligingly performed that service. Then Miss Ross expressed a wish to see Hannah’s room, and the three girls ascended the stairs together, and the two Freshers stood by meekly while the two-year girl indulged in candid criticism.
“Humph! Not so bad. Rather a barn at present, but it’ll look all right when you’ve fixed it up. Always takes a few days to settle down, but one lives in one’s room so much that it’s worth taking pains. You can get no end into the coffin, that’s one blessing!”
“Coffin!” Hannah and Darsie jerked at the ominous word, whereupon Miss Ross smiled with complacent superiority.
“Ah! of course, you don’t know that name. The chest’s the ‘coffin,’ and you keep hats in it, likewise odd boxes, and evening cloaks, and other perishable splendours. Every one calls them coffins, so you’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid; and the bureau’s a ‘burry,’ and the screen’s a ‘farce,’ and a topply one at that. You’ll have to buy another to take its place. They neverdosupply you with decent screens. By the way, there’s an auction on to-night! Did any one tell you? That’s your chance of picking up the things you want. It’s held in the Gym. at ten o’clock, and is not bad fun. I’ll come along and take you, if you’d care to go.”
“Thanks. Yes, I’d like to see everything that’s going on. What sort of things are for sale?”
“All sorts of discards that have been left behind by other girls—screens, bed-covers, curtains, china flower-pots, chairs, kettles, pictures. Sometimes there’s quite a fine show.”
“Sounds attractive! And who is the auctioneer?”
“A second-year girl—the one who is credited with the greatest amount of wit.”
There was a moment’s silence while the two Freshers each mentally leaped a year ahead, and saw herself in this proud and enviable position.
“Who’s the one to-night?”
“Margaret France.” Miss Ross’s lips curled expressively. “I hope you won’t judge us by her standard. She’s certainly not the one whomIshould have chosen to fill the position!”
Silence again, while the Freshers reflected that they knew very well whom Miss Helen Ross would have chosen if she had had the chance, and were glad that she hadn’t.
“Well, I’ll call round about ten. Make up your fire, and be comfortable. You’re allowed a scuttle of coals a day, and let me warn you touseit! If it’s not all burnt, keep a few lumps in a convenient cache—a box under the bed will do. It comes in handy for another day, and when it gets really cold you can stoke up at night and have a fire to dress by in the morning. The authorities don’t approve of that—they say it’s bad for the stoves. Personally I consider myself before any stoves.”
She nodded casually and strode from the room, leaving the two friends divided between gratitude for her kindness and prejudice against her personality.
“Don’t like her a bit, do you?”
“Humph. So-so! Means well, I think. Wonder how she knows Dan? He never mentioned her name.”
“Not atallthe sort of girl Dan would care for! Such a bumptious manner. A good many of them have, I observe. Fearfully self-possessed. Perhaps it’s a special effort to impress the Freshers. She didn’t take much notice of me, but I’m coming with you all the same to buy fixings for my room, and hear the second-year auctioneer. Call for me when you’re ready, like a dear. I’m off now to read until ten o’clock.”
Darsie shut herself in her room, and set to work at her burry with all the ardour of a beginner, so that the hour and a half passed like a flash, and it seemed as if she had scarcely begun before Hannah’s solid bang sounded at the door, and she went out into the corridor to follow Helen Ross to the Gym.
The auction had already begun, and the auctioneer, a fresh-looking girl with grey eyes planted extraordinarily far apart, was engaged in extolling the excellencies of an aged kettle to a laughing circle of girls. She wore a black dress cut square at the neck, and a rose-coloured ribbon twined round her head. She held out the kettle at the length of a bare white arm, and raised her clear voice in delightful imitation of the professional wheedle.
“Friends and Freshers! We now come to Lot Three, one of the most striking and interesting on the catalogue. A kettle, ladies, is always a useful article, but this is no ordinary kettle. We have it on unimpeachable authority that this kettle was the kettle in residence at the establishment of our late colleague Miss Constantia Lawson, the Senior Classic of her year! The kettle of a Senior Classic, Freshers! The kettle which has ministered to her refreshment, which has been, in the language of the poem, the fount of her inspiration! What price shall I say, ladies, for the kettle of a Senior Classic? Sixpence! Did somebody say sixpence!For the kettle of a Senior Classic! Eightpence! Thank you, madam. For the kettleof a— What advance on eightpence? Freshers would do well to consider this opportunity before it is too late. What an—aninebriatingeffect, if I may use the word without offence to the late lamented poet, would be added to the cup that cheers by the thought that the same handle, the same spout, the same—er—er—furry deposit in the inside, have ministered to the refreshment of one of the master spirits of our day! Going at eightpence—eightpence-halfpenny—I thank you, madam! At tenpence! No advance on tenpence? Going—going—gone!”
The hammer descended with a rap, the auctioneer leaned back with an air of exhaustion, and handed the kettle to her clerk, in blue silk and crystal beads.
“Lady to the right. Tell the lady, Joshua, that the small hole in the bottom can easily be soldered by an obliging ironmonger, or, if she prefers, she can hang the kettle on the wall as an object of vertu!”
Peals of laughter greeted this tragic disclosure. The lady to the right refused for some minutes to hand over her tenpence, but finally succumbed to the feeling of the meeting, when a crumpled cotton bed-cover was next produced for sale.
“Lot Four. Handsome Oriental bedspread—design of peacocks, vultures, and pear-trees, in gorgeous colourings. Encircling border on a background of blizzard white, and corner pieces complete. Eight feet by three. Joshua! carry the bedspread round and allow the ladies to examine it for themselves. It is excessively hurtful to our feelings when purchasers imply that deception has been practised in order to induce them to purchase our goods. Show the ladies the spread! Pure cotton, ladies. Fast colours. Design by Alma Tadema, in his happiest mood. You could not possibly purchase such a spread in any establishment, ladies, under the sum of two-and-six. Fine Oriental goods, warranted to impart an air of opulence to the humblest bedstead. Any Fresher wishing to give the last touch of costly elegance to her room should not neglect this opportunity. What am I to say, ladies, for this handsome spread? Sixpence again! Thank you, madam! Sixpences seem in the ascendant to-night. Let us hope the collections on Sunday next will benefit from the ensuing dearth. Ninepence!Atninepence. Pardon, madam? The lady in the eyeglasses wishes to make a remark, Joshua. The lady in the eyeglasses remarks that one side of the spread has been torn. The lady is evidently unaware that that fact is a proof positive of the authenticity of the spread. No Eastern article, as all travellers are aware, isevereven at both sides.” Another burst of laughter greeted this point. The auctioneer showed her pretty white teeth in a complacent smile, her wide grey eyes roved round the room, and met Darsie’s eyes raised to her in beaming admiration.
“One-and-six did you say, madam?” she cried instantly. “Did I understand you to say one-and-six? The opportunity will never occur again. At one-and-six for the lady in violet. Take the name and address if you please, Joshua.” And Darsie, with a shrug and a laugh, paid out her one-and-six, and received in return the blizzard-white cover, ornamented with a roughly mended tear all along one side.
The next articles offered for sale were framed pictures of various sizes which had evidently not been considered worth the trouble of removing. Water-colour sketches by ’prentice hands, faded photographs, or pretty-pretty prints evidently torn from the pages of magazines. The auctioneer exerted all the blandishments to induce the Freshers to purchase these masterpieces, and deplored their scant response with pathetic reproaches.
“Nobids for this tasty little picture? Ladies, ladies, this is a great mistake! In the midst of your arduous brain toil, what could be more soothing and refreshing than to gaze upon this charming pastoral scene? This azure earth, this verdant sky, this lovely maid who combined in her person all the simpering charms of youth, and never, for one misguided moment, troubled her ochre head over the acquirement of that higher knowledge which, as we all know, is the proud prerogative of man! What price shall I say for ‘The Maiden’s Dream’?Nobids! Put it down if you please, Joshua. We have no art collectors with us to-night. Let me have the Botticelli for a change.”
The clerk in blue silk handed up another picture in a rickety Oxford frame, at which the auctioneer gazed rapturously for several moments before turning it towards her audience.
“Number Six on the catalogue. Genuine photograph of a Botticelli from the collection of Miss Eva Dalgleish. Attention, Freshers, if you please! This is an item of serious importance. The presence of a Botticelli bestows at once the air of culture and refinement without which no study is worthy of the name. A genuine photograph of a Botticelli, purchased by the owner in the Italian city of Florence, and borne home by her own fair hands, as the crack across the corner will give proof. In an Oxford frame—a compliment to our sister University—glazed and complete, with hanging loops and fragment of wire.Whatoffers for the Botticelli? Any Fresher who wishes to prove herself endowed with refined and artistic—One shilling? Thank you, madam.Andsixpence! One and nine. One and nine for this genuine Botticelli. Ladies, ladies, this is a sad day for Newnham. And nine—and nine. Going. Going—gone!”
It was Hannah who had testified to her own artistic qualities by purchasing this photograph. She tucked it proudly under her arm, and turned an envious eye on a brass flower-pot which was now engaging the auctioneer’s attention. A simultaneous movement of the audience showed that this was an article on which many hopes had been set, and bidding promised to be brisk.
“Now, ladies, we come to one of the principal events of the evening, the bidding for this very rich and magnificent brass, hand-beaten, richly-chased, Oriental, ornamental flower-pot. We have several flower-pots in our catalogue, but none to be compared for one moment to the very superior article which you now see before you. It is safe to say that no student, even in her third year, can boast of a flower-pot to equal this lot in either quality or design. The possession of it will in itself ensure fame for its fortunate owner. Let me have a handsome bid, if you please, ladies, to start this valuable article. Half a crown!!! A lady, whose ignorance we can only deplore, offers me half a crown for a genuine antique brass! I am thankful that in such a large and enlightened audience such an error is not likely to be repeated. Three shillings.Thankyou, madam. And six. Four shillings—four shillings. Freshers who neglect to take advantage of this opportunity will be compelled to content themselves with one of these common china articles to my left. A flowerpot is a necessary article of furniture without which no room is complete. What is home without an aspidistra? You laugh, ladies, but you can find no answer to that question. And six! Five shillings! The raw material for this masterpiece must have cost many times this sum. Five—five—no advance on five. The lady in green, Joshua. Take the lady’s address!”
The auctioneer put up her hand to her head and patted the rose-coloured ribbon into place. Inspired by the laughing appreciation of her sallies, her cheeks had flushed to the same bright shade, and with her sparkling eyes and alert, graceful movements she made a delightful and attractive figure, at which the Freshers stared in undisguised delight.
“I adore her!” whispered Darsie in her friend’s ear.
“Decent sort!” croaked Hannah the undemonstrative, and then by a common impulse their glance passed on to rest on Helen Ross’s set, supercilious face.
“I loathe her,” came the second whisper.
“Mean thing—jealousy!” croaked Hannah once more, and turned her attention to the business in hand.
After the china flower-pots had been disposed of, a trio of basket-chairs gave an impetus to the bidding, as the truth of the auctioneer’s words went home to every heart.
“‘Three luxurious basket-chairs, cushioned complete in handsome cretonne, stuffed pure wool. Condition—as new.’ Ladies, in these basket-chairs you see not only elegant articles of furniture, but a solution of the dilemma which dogs every owner of a one-comfortable-chair study. One question haunts her waking and sleeping hours; one problem embitters the most social occasions—‘Shall I be comfortable or polite?’ To this question, in this college of Newnham, there can, ladies, be but one reply—and the wretched hostess sits on the coal-box and gives her visitor the chair. After long hours of mental toil, after the physical strain of the hockey-field, a quiet hour is vouchsafed beside her own fireside, with the companionship of a beloved friend to soothe and cheer, and that hour, ladies—that precious hour—I say it with emotion almost too strong for words—that stolen hour of peace and rest must needs be passed—on the coal-box! Ladies, I need say no more. The remedy is in your own hands.”
So on, and so on. After the chairs came curtains; after the curtains, bookcases, ornaments, and books. The auction flowed on, punctuated by explosions of laughter, until the last item on the “catalogue” was reached, and the auctioneer was crimson with exhaustion.
Darsie and Hannah had amassed between them quite a stock of furnishings. A screen apiece, chairs, Oriental window-curtains in stripes of contrasting colours warm and comfortable to look upon, flower-pots, and odd pictures and ornaments. One felt a proprietor, indeed, as one looked over the spoils, and the inroads into capital had been agreeably small. Darsie was folding up her damaged “spread” when a voice spoke in her ear, and with a little jump of the heart she looked up to find Margaret France standing by her side.
“How do you do? I must thank you for your patronage. You chipped in nobly. Hope you’ll like ’em, when you’ve got ’em. Just up, aren’t you? What’s your shop?”
For a moment Darsie stared blankly, then a flash of intuition revealed the meaning of the word.
“Modern languages.”
“Good! So’m I. And your friend?”
“Mathematics.”
“Humph! Well, good luck! I’m off to bed. We shall meet on the Rialto!”
She smiled, nodded, and was gone. With a sudden realisation of their own fatigue the Freshers turned to follow her example. Helen Ross joined them on their way along the corridors, and Darsie could not resist expressing her appreciation of the auctioneer’s wit.
“She was delicious. Ihaveenjoyed it. Sheisamusing and clever.”
“Think so?” said Helen coolly. “Really? Glad you were pleased. It’s usuallyfarbetter than that!”
With a curt good-night she turned into her own room, and the two friends made haste to follow her example.
The banked-up fires burned warm and red; the scattered oddments had been hidden from sight in the “coffin’s” rapacious maw; photographs and knick-knacks gave a homy look to the rooms which had looked so bare and bleak twenty-four hours before. The Freshers tumbled into bed and fell happily asleep.
Chapter Eighteen.First Experiences.During the first month at Newnham Darsie and Hannah fell gradually and happily into the routine of college life. They grew to recognise their companions by name, and to place them according to their several “shops”; they entertained cocoa parties in their rooms; picked up slang terms, and talked condescendingly of “townees”; they paid up subscriptions to “Hall,” “Games,” “Flowers,” and “Fic”; slept, played, and laughed and talked, and, above all,worked, with heart and mind, and with every day that passed were more convinced that to be a student at Cambridge was the most glorious fate that any girl could desire.A week after the beginning of term Helen Ross, the fortunate possessor of a double room, gave a tea-party, with one of the younger Dons as chaperon, to which Dan Vernon and a companion were invited. Ostensibly the party was given in Hannah’s honour, but to her astonishment and dismay Hannah’s friend was not favoured with an invitation, and felt her first real twinge of loneliness in the knowledge that two old friends were making merry together but a few yards away, while she sat solitary and alone. What she had done to incur Helen Ross’s dislike Darsie could not imagine, and, fortunately for herself, she was too large-hearted to suspect that it arose simply from an unattractive girl’s jealousy of one whom all had combined to love and admire. Be that as it may, Darsie was left out of the tea-party, and her subsequent cross-questionings of Hannah were far from comforting.“Had a good time?”“Top hole.”“Nice people there?”“Topping.”“Good cakes?”“Scrum!”“Dan ask for me?”“No.”“Then he ought to have done!” Darsie told herself indignantly, and her thoughts flew off to Ralph Percival, wondering when she would see him next, and recalling with pleasure his promise to “see her through.”The approach of the Freshers’ hockey match banished less important topics, for Hannah was on edge with anxiety to be at her best, and disport herself sufficiently well to be included in after-team practices, while Darsie was scarcely less eager on her behalf.When the afternoon arrived and the match began, the second and third year girls crowded to look on, while the Captain stood apart surrounded by a few satellites from the Committee, as truly the monarch of all she surveyed as any king who ever graced a throne. The thoughts of each Fresher turned with an anguish of appeal towards this figure; a smile on her face raised them to the seventh heaven; a frown laid them in the dust! Extraordinary to think that two short years ago this oracle had been a Fresher like themselves! Inconceivable to imagine that in two years to come they themselves might occupy that same magnificent altitude!The eyes of the Oracle fell upon Hannah and approved what she saw, and henceforth Hannah took part in team practices, and lorded it over Darsie, who in her turn affected a growing antagonism to the game.“You can have too much of a good thing—even of games—and I seem to haveeatenhockey every meal since I arrived!” she announced impatiently; and in truth, since an unwritten law forbade the discussion of “shop” at table, the conversation was largely limited to dissertations on this the most popular of games.On Sundays the two girls went together to King’s College Chapel and gazed with admiration at the vaulted stone roof, with its marvellous fan tracery; at its towering stained-glass windows, and the screen bearing the monogram of Anne Boleyn; at the delicate carving of the stalls. It was so wonderfully different from the dreary town edifice in which they had been accustomed to worship, with its painted walls, heavy gallery, and wheezy organ played by an indifferent musician—so wonderfully, gloriously different that Darsie felt a pricking at the back of her eyes as though she were ready to cry for sheer pleasure and admiration. The music and the sermon seemed alike perfect, and Darsie ardently followed each stage of the service.Some people are inclined to grow frivolous and forgetful when the world goes well with them and the desire of their hearts is accomplished; others are filled with a passion of gratitude and thanksgiving, and Darsie Garnett belonged to the latter category. Prosperity made her more humble, more kindly, more overflowing with love to God and man. A portrait of Lady Hayes stood on her study mantelpiece, and every morning and evening she bent her sunny head to kiss the stern old face. Dear old Aunt Maria! she had so loved being kissed—reallykissed, as if one meant it. If in that higher life to which she had gone she knew what was happening on earth, Darsie felt sure that she would like to know that her portrait was still cherished. Her thoughts hovered gratefully about the dead woman as she sat in this wonderful old church, and pictured with awe the succeeding generations who had worshipped within its walls. It was only when the sermon was at an end that, turning her head, Darsie met the gaze of a girl sitting a few seats away, and after a moment of bewilderment recognised the widely set eyes and curling lips of Margaret France.In her dark hat and coat she looked less attractive than in evening dress, but the fact made no difference in the thrill of pleasure with which Darsie realised her presence. Some quality in this girl appealed to the deep places of her heart; she realised instinctively that if the attraction were mutual the tie between them would be close and firm, but it must be all or nothing—she could never dally with friendship with Margaret France!Walking home slowly along Silver Street, she found herself answering absently to Hannah’s remarks, her whole attention riveted on watching the passers-by, wondering if by any possibility Margaret France would stop to speak to her once more, and her heart leaped with exultation as a footstep paused by her side, and the clear, crisp tones addressed her by name.“Morning, Miss Garnett! Morning, Miss Vernon! Ripping day, isn’t it? Glad to see you in King’s. Saw you long before you spotted me, and enjoyed your enjoyment. Never forgot my first services. Good to be there, isn’t it?”“Oh–h!” Darsie’s deep-drawn breath of rapture was an eloquent response. “Ihavebeen happy! I’ve never in my life seen anything so wonderful before. It seems almost too good to be true that I can go there every Sunday for years to come. Cambridge is wonderful. I am more enchanted every day. Even to walk along the streets is a joy.”“Good!” cried Margaret heartily. “Drop in to five o’clock service sometimes when you’re feeling tired, and tied up with your work. It’s a grand soother. How goes the work so far? Enjoying the lectures? Finding the literature interesting?”The two Modern Languages discussed work together eagerly, while mathematical Hannah marched on a few feet ahead. Darsie felt a pang of remorse, because she could not help wishing that she wouldstayahead, and so give the chance of a prolongedtête-à-têtewith Margaret France. The feeling of attraction was so strong now that they were face to face that it was only by an effort of will that she could resist slipping her hand through the black serge arm, but the expression of her face was eloquent, and Margaret smiled back well pleased. When they parted a few minutes later to go to their different halls, the older girl said casually, but in a lowered voice which showed that the invitation was meant for Darsie alone—“By the way, I’m at home for cocoa on Tuesday evenings at ten. Bring your milk, and come along, will you! I’d like to have you.”“Rather!” cried Darsie eloquently, and ran up to her room aglow with delight and pride, which grew still deeper at lunch when a casual reference to the invitation (it was really impossible to keep silent on so thrilling a point!) evoked a wide stare of surprise.“To her Tuesdays! Are you sure? Nobody goes to those but her very boon companions. Youarehonoured!”“Didn’t askme, I notice!” sniffed Hannah huffily. “No twin soul here. Recognised an affinity in you, I suppose.”“Well,Iwasn’t asked to play in team matches! Don’t grudge me my little score!” returned Darsie, knowing well that an honour in sport was more to her companion than many cocoas. “Besides, you must remember you have Helen Ross!”“Oh, ah, yes! Helen Ross dotes on me. Disinterested, of course. No connection with the brother over the way!” commented Hannah with a grin. “By the way, I hear from Dan that your friend Ralph Percival is in trouble already, playing cards, getting into debt, and staying out after hours. Seems to be a poor-spirited sort of fellow from all accounts!”“He saved my life, anyway, when I was a youngster, and very nearly drowned myself, paddling up a mill-stream. There’s no want of spirit about Ralph. Life has been made too easy for him, that’s the mischief!” said Darsie in her most elderly and judicial manner. “It’s difficult to keep to the grind when you know that you will never need to work. He needs an object in life. Until he finds that, he will be content to drift.”“He’ll drift into being sent down at this rate. That will be the end of him!” croaked Hannah gloomily; whereupon Darsie knitted her brows and collapsed into silence for the rest of the meal.Poor, dear, handsome Ralph! At the bottom of her heart Darsie was hardly surprised to hear Hannah’s report. The indifference with which he had entered upon his college life had not developed into any more earnest spirit, as had been abundantly proved by his conversation when the two had last met, during the long vacation, while the hesitating manner of his mother and sisters seemed to hint at a hidden anxiety. In the depths of her heart Darsie was feeling considerably piqued by the fact that though she had now been over a month in Cambridge Ralph had shown no anxiety to meet her, or to fulfil his promise of “showing the ropes.” Other girls had been invited to merry tea-parties in the different colleges, and almost daily she had expected such an invitation for herself, but neither of her two men friends had paid her this mark of attention; but for the fact of an occasional meeting in the streets they might as well have been at the other end of the land. Pride forbade her commenting on the fact even to Hannah; but inwardly she had determined to be very proud and haughty when the deferred meeting came about. Dan was too wrapped up in himself to care for outsiders; Ralph was a slacker—not worth a thought. Darsie dismissed them both with a shrug. Margaret France was worth a dozen men put together!Ten o’clock on Tuesday evening seemed long in coming, but the moment that the clock pointed to the hour Darsie hastened to her new friend’s study, and to her satisfaction found her still alone. The room looked delightfully cosy with pink shades over the lights, a clear blaze upon the grate, and Margaret herself, in a pink rest-gown curled up in a wicker-chair, was the very embodiment of ease. She did not rise as Darsie entered, but pointed to a chair close at hand, with an eagerness which was in itself the best welcome.“That’s right. Come along! I’m glad you’re the first. Sit down and look around. How do you like my den?”Darsie stared to right and left with curious eyes, and came to the instant conclusion that Margaret’s room was like herself. From floor to ceiling, from window to door, there was not one single article which did not give back a cheering impression. If the article were composed of metal, it shone and glittered until it could shine no farther; if of oak, every leaf and moulding spoke of elbow-grease, and clean, fresh-smelling polish; if it were a fabric of wool or cotton, it was invariably of some shade of rose, shedding, as it were, an aspect of summer in the midst of November gloom.Over the fireplace was fastened a long brown-paper scroll, on which some words were painted in big ornamental letters. Darsie read them with a thrill of appreciation—“Two men looked out through prison bars,One saw mud, the other stars!”The eyes of the two girls met, and lingered. Then Darsie spoke—“That’s your motto in life! You look out for stars—”“Yes! So do you. That’s why I wanted to be friends.”“I wonder!” mused Darsie, and sat silent, gazing into the fire. “It is beautiful, and I understand the drift, but—would you mind paraphrasing it for my benefit?”“It’s so simple. Thereismud, and therearestars. It’s just a choice of where we choose to look.”“Yes—I see. But don’t you think there are times—when one is awfully down on one’s luck, for instance—when there’s no one on earth so trying as the persistent optimist whowillmake the best of everything, and take a cheerful view! You want to murder him in cold blood. I do, at least. You feel ever so much more cheered by some one who acknowledges the mud, and says how horrid it is, and pities you for sticking so fast!”Margaret’s ringing laugh showed all her pretty white teeth. She rubbed her hands together in delighted appreciation.“Oh, I know, I know! I want to kill them, too. Vision’s not a mite of use without tact. But no bars can shut out the stars if we choose to let them shine.”Her own face was ashine as she spoke, but anything more unlike “goodiness,” abhorred by every normal girl, it would be impossible to imagine.“Tell me about your work—how do you get on with your coach?” she asked the next moment, switching off to ordinary subjects in the most easy and natural of manners, and Darsie found herself laying bare all the little hitches and difficulties which must needs enter into even the most congenial course of study, and being alternately laughed at and consoled, and directed towards a solution by brisk, apt words.“You’re all right—you’ve got a head. You’ll come through on top, if you’ll be content to go slow. Want to take the Tripos first year, and honours at that—that’s your style! Calm down, my dear, and be content to jog. It pays better in the end.” She flashed a radiant smile at Darsie’s reddening face, then jumped up to greet her other guests of the evening, three in number, who appeared at that moment, each carrying her own precious portion of milk.One was “Economics” and owned so square a jaw that the line of it (there was no curve) seemed to run down straight with the ear; another was “Science” and wore spectacles; a third was “Modern Languages,” like the host, but one and all shared an apparently unlimited appetite for Cocoa, Conversation, and Chelsea buns, the which they proceeded to enjoy to the full. “Modern Languages” being in the ascendant, indulged in a little “shop” as a preliminary, accompanied by the sighs, groans, and complaints incidental to the subject.“How’s your drama getting on? Is it developing satisfactorily?” Student Number Two inquired of Darsie, in reference to the paper given out at the last lecture in Divinity Hall, and Darsie shrugged with a plaintive air.“I’ve been struggling to develop it, totraceits development, as he said; but the tracings are decidedly dim! I get on much better with a subject on which I can throw a little imagination. ‘The growth of the novel,’ for instance—I wove quite a fairy-tale out of that.”The girls smiled, but with a dubious air.“Better be careful! That’s a ruse which most of us have tried in our day, and come wearily back to sober fact... How do you like the Historical French Grammar?”The Fresher made a gesture as if to tear her hair, whereupon the second-year girls groaned in chorus.“Hopeless! Piteous! In last year’s Tripos the paper was positively inhuman. The girls said it was impossible even to understand the questions, much less to answer them.”“Wicked! Waste of time, I call it. Most of us are training to teach, but it’s not one in a hundred who will be called upon to teachthaterudite horror.”Darsie looked at Margaret France as she spoke, and saw at once by the expression of her companions that she had touched on a delicate subject. There was a moment’s silence, then—“I am not going to teach,” said Margaret, smiling.“Really! Then— What are you going to do?”“Live at home.”A future profession seemed so universal a prospect with the Newnham students that Margaret’s reply amazed Darsie as much as it appeared to annoy her other hearers.Economics sniffed, and muttered beneath her breath; Science stared fixedly at the ceiling through her glittering spectacles; Modern Languages groaned aloud.“With your brain! With your spirit! After this training! Such wicked waste...”Margaret laughed lightly.“Oh, Darsie Garnett, how mean of you, when I feed you with my best Chelsea buns, to land me in this time-honoured discussion! I’m an only child, and my parents have been perfect bricks in giving me my wish and sparing me for three whole years! The least I can do is to go home and do a turn for them. I fail to see where the waste comes in!”“All you have learned—all you have studied—all you have read—”“Just so! I hope it will make me a more interesting companion for them. And for myself! I’ve got to live with myself all the days of my life, remember, and I donotwish to be bored!”“You have such power, such capacity! You might do some work for the world!”“I intend to. What’s the world made up of, after all, but a number of separate homes? As a matter of ordinary common sense isn’t it best to work in one’sownhome, rather than in a strange one?”Margaret threw out her hands with a pretty appealing gesture, and her companions stared at her in silence, apparently too nonplussed to reply. Before they had time to rally to the attack, however, a startling interruption had occurred.With a suddenness and violence which made the cocoa-drinkers jump in their seats the door burst open, and the figure of a girl in evening dress precipitated herself into their midst. Her light skirt was thrown over her shoulders, revealing an abbreviated white petticoat; her eyes were fixed with a deadly determination; regardless of the occupants of the room or of the articles of furniture scattered here and there, she flew at lightning speed to the window, closed it with a resounding bang, leaped like a cat at the ventilator overhead, banged that also, and with one bound was out of the room, the door making a third bang in her wake.Darsie gasped in dismay. She herself had been transfixed with astonishment, but her companions had displayed a marvellous self-possession. Margaret had wrapped her arms round the cocoa-table to protect it from upset, another girl had steadied the screen, a third had obligingly lifted her chair out of the way; but no sign of alarm or curiosity showed upon their faces, which fact did but heighten the mystery of the situation.“Is she—is shemad?”The second-year girls laughed in chorus. From afar could be heard a succession of bang, bang, bangs, as if in every study in the house the same performance was being enacted. Margaret nodded at the Fresher with kindly reassurance.“Only the fire drill! They’ve had an alarm, and she’s told to shut off draughts. Very good going! Not more than five or six seconds all told!”“There isn’t really—”“Oh, dear, no. No such luck! Poor fun having a fire brigade, and no chance to show its mettle. But we live in hope. You ought to join. I can imagine you making a magnificent captain.”So here was another ambition. Darsie made a mental note to inquire into the workings of the fire brigade, and to offer her name as a recruit without delay.
During the first month at Newnham Darsie and Hannah fell gradually and happily into the routine of college life. They grew to recognise their companions by name, and to place them according to their several “shops”; they entertained cocoa parties in their rooms; picked up slang terms, and talked condescendingly of “townees”; they paid up subscriptions to “Hall,” “Games,” “Flowers,” and “Fic”; slept, played, and laughed and talked, and, above all,worked, with heart and mind, and with every day that passed were more convinced that to be a student at Cambridge was the most glorious fate that any girl could desire.
A week after the beginning of term Helen Ross, the fortunate possessor of a double room, gave a tea-party, with one of the younger Dons as chaperon, to which Dan Vernon and a companion were invited. Ostensibly the party was given in Hannah’s honour, but to her astonishment and dismay Hannah’s friend was not favoured with an invitation, and felt her first real twinge of loneliness in the knowledge that two old friends were making merry together but a few yards away, while she sat solitary and alone. What she had done to incur Helen Ross’s dislike Darsie could not imagine, and, fortunately for herself, she was too large-hearted to suspect that it arose simply from an unattractive girl’s jealousy of one whom all had combined to love and admire. Be that as it may, Darsie was left out of the tea-party, and her subsequent cross-questionings of Hannah were far from comforting.
“Had a good time?”
“Top hole.”
“Nice people there?”
“Topping.”
“Good cakes?”
“Scrum!”
“Dan ask for me?”
“No.”
“Then he ought to have done!” Darsie told herself indignantly, and her thoughts flew off to Ralph Percival, wondering when she would see him next, and recalling with pleasure his promise to “see her through.”
The approach of the Freshers’ hockey match banished less important topics, for Hannah was on edge with anxiety to be at her best, and disport herself sufficiently well to be included in after-team practices, while Darsie was scarcely less eager on her behalf.
When the afternoon arrived and the match began, the second and third year girls crowded to look on, while the Captain stood apart surrounded by a few satellites from the Committee, as truly the monarch of all she surveyed as any king who ever graced a throne. The thoughts of each Fresher turned with an anguish of appeal towards this figure; a smile on her face raised them to the seventh heaven; a frown laid them in the dust! Extraordinary to think that two short years ago this oracle had been a Fresher like themselves! Inconceivable to imagine that in two years to come they themselves might occupy that same magnificent altitude!
The eyes of the Oracle fell upon Hannah and approved what she saw, and henceforth Hannah took part in team practices, and lorded it over Darsie, who in her turn affected a growing antagonism to the game.
“You can have too much of a good thing—even of games—and I seem to haveeatenhockey every meal since I arrived!” she announced impatiently; and in truth, since an unwritten law forbade the discussion of “shop” at table, the conversation was largely limited to dissertations on this the most popular of games.
On Sundays the two girls went together to King’s College Chapel and gazed with admiration at the vaulted stone roof, with its marvellous fan tracery; at its towering stained-glass windows, and the screen bearing the monogram of Anne Boleyn; at the delicate carving of the stalls. It was so wonderfully different from the dreary town edifice in which they had been accustomed to worship, with its painted walls, heavy gallery, and wheezy organ played by an indifferent musician—so wonderfully, gloriously different that Darsie felt a pricking at the back of her eyes as though she were ready to cry for sheer pleasure and admiration. The music and the sermon seemed alike perfect, and Darsie ardently followed each stage of the service.
Some people are inclined to grow frivolous and forgetful when the world goes well with them and the desire of their hearts is accomplished; others are filled with a passion of gratitude and thanksgiving, and Darsie Garnett belonged to the latter category. Prosperity made her more humble, more kindly, more overflowing with love to God and man. A portrait of Lady Hayes stood on her study mantelpiece, and every morning and evening she bent her sunny head to kiss the stern old face. Dear old Aunt Maria! she had so loved being kissed—reallykissed, as if one meant it. If in that higher life to which she had gone she knew what was happening on earth, Darsie felt sure that she would like to know that her portrait was still cherished. Her thoughts hovered gratefully about the dead woman as she sat in this wonderful old church, and pictured with awe the succeeding generations who had worshipped within its walls. It was only when the sermon was at an end that, turning her head, Darsie met the gaze of a girl sitting a few seats away, and after a moment of bewilderment recognised the widely set eyes and curling lips of Margaret France.
In her dark hat and coat she looked less attractive than in evening dress, but the fact made no difference in the thrill of pleasure with which Darsie realised her presence. Some quality in this girl appealed to the deep places of her heart; she realised instinctively that if the attraction were mutual the tie between them would be close and firm, but it must be all or nothing—she could never dally with friendship with Margaret France!
Walking home slowly along Silver Street, she found herself answering absently to Hannah’s remarks, her whole attention riveted on watching the passers-by, wondering if by any possibility Margaret France would stop to speak to her once more, and her heart leaped with exultation as a footstep paused by her side, and the clear, crisp tones addressed her by name.
“Morning, Miss Garnett! Morning, Miss Vernon! Ripping day, isn’t it? Glad to see you in King’s. Saw you long before you spotted me, and enjoyed your enjoyment. Never forgot my first services. Good to be there, isn’t it?”
“Oh–h!” Darsie’s deep-drawn breath of rapture was an eloquent response. “Ihavebeen happy! I’ve never in my life seen anything so wonderful before. It seems almost too good to be true that I can go there every Sunday for years to come. Cambridge is wonderful. I am more enchanted every day. Even to walk along the streets is a joy.”
“Good!” cried Margaret heartily. “Drop in to five o’clock service sometimes when you’re feeling tired, and tied up with your work. It’s a grand soother. How goes the work so far? Enjoying the lectures? Finding the literature interesting?”
The two Modern Languages discussed work together eagerly, while mathematical Hannah marched on a few feet ahead. Darsie felt a pang of remorse, because she could not help wishing that she wouldstayahead, and so give the chance of a prolongedtête-à-têtewith Margaret France. The feeling of attraction was so strong now that they were face to face that it was only by an effort of will that she could resist slipping her hand through the black serge arm, but the expression of her face was eloquent, and Margaret smiled back well pleased. When they parted a few minutes later to go to their different halls, the older girl said casually, but in a lowered voice which showed that the invitation was meant for Darsie alone—
“By the way, I’m at home for cocoa on Tuesday evenings at ten. Bring your milk, and come along, will you! I’d like to have you.”
“Rather!” cried Darsie eloquently, and ran up to her room aglow with delight and pride, which grew still deeper at lunch when a casual reference to the invitation (it was really impossible to keep silent on so thrilling a point!) evoked a wide stare of surprise.
“To her Tuesdays! Are you sure? Nobody goes to those but her very boon companions. Youarehonoured!”
“Didn’t askme, I notice!” sniffed Hannah huffily. “No twin soul here. Recognised an affinity in you, I suppose.”
“Well,Iwasn’t asked to play in team matches! Don’t grudge me my little score!” returned Darsie, knowing well that an honour in sport was more to her companion than many cocoas. “Besides, you must remember you have Helen Ross!”
“Oh, ah, yes! Helen Ross dotes on me. Disinterested, of course. No connection with the brother over the way!” commented Hannah with a grin. “By the way, I hear from Dan that your friend Ralph Percival is in trouble already, playing cards, getting into debt, and staying out after hours. Seems to be a poor-spirited sort of fellow from all accounts!”
“He saved my life, anyway, when I was a youngster, and very nearly drowned myself, paddling up a mill-stream. There’s no want of spirit about Ralph. Life has been made too easy for him, that’s the mischief!” said Darsie in her most elderly and judicial manner. “It’s difficult to keep to the grind when you know that you will never need to work. He needs an object in life. Until he finds that, he will be content to drift.”
“He’ll drift into being sent down at this rate. That will be the end of him!” croaked Hannah gloomily; whereupon Darsie knitted her brows and collapsed into silence for the rest of the meal.
Poor, dear, handsome Ralph! At the bottom of her heart Darsie was hardly surprised to hear Hannah’s report. The indifference with which he had entered upon his college life had not developed into any more earnest spirit, as had been abundantly proved by his conversation when the two had last met, during the long vacation, while the hesitating manner of his mother and sisters seemed to hint at a hidden anxiety. In the depths of her heart Darsie was feeling considerably piqued by the fact that though she had now been over a month in Cambridge Ralph had shown no anxiety to meet her, or to fulfil his promise of “showing the ropes.” Other girls had been invited to merry tea-parties in the different colleges, and almost daily she had expected such an invitation for herself, but neither of her two men friends had paid her this mark of attention; but for the fact of an occasional meeting in the streets they might as well have been at the other end of the land. Pride forbade her commenting on the fact even to Hannah; but inwardly she had determined to be very proud and haughty when the deferred meeting came about. Dan was too wrapped up in himself to care for outsiders; Ralph was a slacker—not worth a thought. Darsie dismissed them both with a shrug. Margaret France was worth a dozen men put together!
Ten o’clock on Tuesday evening seemed long in coming, but the moment that the clock pointed to the hour Darsie hastened to her new friend’s study, and to her satisfaction found her still alone. The room looked delightfully cosy with pink shades over the lights, a clear blaze upon the grate, and Margaret herself, in a pink rest-gown curled up in a wicker-chair, was the very embodiment of ease. She did not rise as Darsie entered, but pointed to a chair close at hand, with an eagerness which was in itself the best welcome.
“That’s right. Come along! I’m glad you’re the first. Sit down and look around. How do you like my den?”
Darsie stared to right and left with curious eyes, and came to the instant conclusion that Margaret’s room was like herself. From floor to ceiling, from window to door, there was not one single article which did not give back a cheering impression. If the article were composed of metal, it shone and glittered until it could shine no farther; if of oak, every leaf and moulding spoke of elbow-grease, and clean, fresh-smelling polish; if it were a fabric of wool or cotton, it was invariably of some shade of rose, shedding, as it were, an aspect of summer in the midst of November gloom.
Over the fireplace was fastened a long brown-paper scroll, on which some words were painted in big ornamental letters. Darsie read them with a thrill of appreciation—
“Two men looked out through prison bars,One saw mud, the other stars!”
“Two men looked out through prison bars,One saw mud, the other stars!”
The eyes of the two girls met, and lingered. Then Darsie spoke—
“That’s your motto in life! You look out for stars—”
“Yes! So do you. That’s why I wanted to be friends.”
“I wonder!” mused Darsie, and sat silent, gazing into the fire. “It is beautiful, and I understand the drift, but—would you mind paraphrasing it for my benefit?”
“It’s so simple. Thereismud, and therearestars. It’s just a choice of where we choose to look.”
“Yes—I see. But don’t you think there are times—when one is awfully down on one’s luck, for instance—when there’s no one on earth so trying as the persistent optimist whowillmake the best of everything, and take a cheerful view! You want to murder him in cold blood. I do, at least. You feel ever so much more cheered by some one who acknowledges the mud, and says how horrid it is, and pities you for sticking so fast!”
Margaret’s ringing laugh showed all her pretty white teeth. She rubbed her hands together in delighted appreciation.
“Oh, I know, I know! I want to kill them, too. Vision’s not a mite of use without tact. But no bars can shut out the stars if we choose to let them shine.”
Her own face was ashine as she spoke, but anything more unlike “goodiness,” abhorred by every normal girl, it would be impossible to imagine.
“Tell me about your work—how do you get on with your coach?” she asked the next moment, switching off to ordinary subjects in the most easy and natural of manners, and Darsie found herself laying bare all the little hitches and difficulties which must needs enter into even the most congenial course of study, and being alternately laughed at and consoled, and directed towards a solution by brisk, apt words.
“You’re all right—you’ve got a head. You’ll come through on top, if you’ll be content to go slow. Want to take the Tripos first year, and honours at that—that’s your style! Calm down, my dear, and be content to jog. It pays better in the end.” She flashed a radiant smile at Darsie’s reddening face, then jumped up to greet her other guests of the evening, three in number, who appeared at that moment, each carrying her own precious portion of milk.
One was “Economics” and owned so square a jaw that the line of it (there was no curve) seemed to run down straight with the ear; another was “Science” and wore spectacles; a third was “Modern Languages,” like the host, but one and all shared an apparently unlimited appetite for Cocoa, Conversation, and Chelsea buns, the which they proceeded to enjoy to the full. “Modern Languages” being in the ascendant, indulged in a little “shop” as a preliminary, accompanied by the sighs, groans, and complaints incidental to the subject.
“How’s your drama getting on? Is it developing satisfactorily?” Student Number Two inquired of Darsie, in reference to the paper given out at the last lecture in Divinity Hall, and Darsie shrugged with a plaintive air.
“I’ve been struggling to develop it, totraceits development, as he said; but the tracings are decidedly dim! I get on much better with a subject on which I can throw a little imagination. ‘The growth of the novel,’ for instance—I wove quite a fairy-tale out of that.”
The girls smiled, but with a dubious air.
“Better be careful! That’s a ruse which most of us have tried in our day, and come wearily back to sober fact... How do you like the Historical French Grammar?”
The Fresher made a gesture as if to tear her hair, whereupon the second-year girls groaned in chorus.
“Hopeless! Piteous! In last year’s Tripos the paper was positively inhuman. The girls said it was impossible even to understand the questions, much less to answer them.”
“Wicked! Waste of time, I call it. Most of us are training to teach, but it’s not one in a hundred who will be called upon to teachthaterudite horror.”
Darsie looked at Margaret France as she spoke, and saw at once by the expression of her companions that she had touched on a delicate subject. There was a moment’s silence, then—
“I am not going to teach,” said Margaret, smiling.
“Really! Then— What are you going to do?”
“Live at home.”
A future profession seemed so universal a prospect with the Newnham students that Margaret’s reply amazed Darsie as much as it appeared to annoy her other hearers.
Economics sniffed, and muttered beneath her breath; Science stared fixedly at the ceiling through her glittering spectacles; Modern Languages groaned aloud.
“With your brain! With your spirit! After this training! Such wicked waste...”
Margaret laughed lightly.
“Oh, Darsie Garnett, how mean of you, when I feed you with my best Chelsea buns, to land me in this time-honoured discussion! I’m an only child, and my parents have been perfect bricks in giving me my wish and sparing me for three whole years! The least I can do is to go home and do a turn for them. I fail to see where the waste comes in!”
“All you have learned—all you have studied—all you have read—”
“Just so! I hope it will make me a more interesting companion for them. And for myself! I’ve got to live with myself all the days of my life, remember, and I donotwish to be bored!”
“You have such power, such capacity! You might do some work for the world!”
“I intend to. What’s the world made up of, after all, but a number of separate homes? As a matter of ordinary common sense isn’t it best to work in one’sownhome, rather than in a strange one?”
Margaret threw out her hands with a pretty appealing gesture, and her companions stared at her in silence, apparently too nonplussed to reply. Before they had time to rally to the attack, however, a startling interruption had occurred.
With a suddenness and violence which made the cocoa-drinkers jump in their seats the door burst open, and the figure of a girl in evening dress precipitated herself into their midst. Her light skirt was thrown over her shoulders, revealing an abbreviated white petticoat; her eyes were fixed with a deadly determination; regardless of the occupants of the room or of the articles of furniture scattered here and there, she flew at lightning speed to the window, closed it with a resounding bang, leaped like a cat at the ventilator overhead, banged that also, and with one bound was out of the room, the door making a third bang in her wake.
Darsie gasped in dismay. She herself had been transfixed with astonishment, but her companions had displayed a marvellous self-possession. Margaret had wrapped her arms round the cocoa-table to protect it from upset, another girl had steadied the screen, a third had obligingly lifted her chair out of the way; but no sign of alarm or curiosity showed upon their faces, which fact did but heighten the mystery of the situation.
“Is she—is shemad?”
The second-year girls laughed in chorus. From afar could be heard a succession of bang, bang, bangs, as if in every study in the house the same performance was being enacted. Margaret nodded at the Fresher with kindly reassurance.
“Only the fire drill! They’ve had an alarm, and she’s told to shut off draughts. Very good going! Not more than five or six seconds all told!”
“There isn’t really—”
“Oh, dear, no. No such luck! Poor fun having a fire brigade, and no chance to show its mettle. But we live in hope. You ought to join. I can imagine you making a magnificent captain.”
So here was another ambition. Darsie made a mental note to inquire into the workings of the fire brigade, and to offer her name as a recruit without delay.
Chapter Nineteen.The Fancy Ball.It was somewhat of a shock to the Fresher contingency to receive one morning the intimation of a Costume Ball, to be held in Clough Hall on the following night; but their protests met with scant sympathy from the elders. When Darsie plaintively declared that she hadn’t got a fancy dress, and would not have time to send home for it if shehad, a third-year girl silenced her by a stern counter-question: “And where, pray, would be the fun if youhad, andcould? If at the cost of a postcard you could be fitted up as the Lady of the Lake in green draperies and water-lilies, it would no doubt be exceedingly becoming, but it would be no sport. No, young woman, you’ve got to contrive something out of nothing and an hour stolen from the night, and when you’ve done it you’ll be in the mood to appreciate other people’s contrivings into the bargain. Buck up! You’re one of the dressy sort. We’ll expect wonders from you.”But when Darsie repaired to the seclusion of her study and set herself to the problem of evolving a fancy dress out of an ordinary college outfit, ideas were remarkably slow in coming. She looked questioningly at each piece of drapery in turns, wondered if she could be a ghost in curtains, a statue in sheets, an eastern houri in the cotton quilt, a Portia in the hearthrug, discarded each possibility in turn, and turned her attention to her own wardrobe.Black serge, grey tweed, violet ninon; two evening frocks, and the one white satin which was thepiece de resistanceof the whole. A cloth coat, a mackintosh, an art serge cloak for evening wear—howcouldone manufacture a fancy dress from garments so ordinary as these?In despair, Darsie betook herself to Margaret France’s room and found that young woman seated before her dressing-table engaged in staring fixedly at her own reflection in the mirror. She betrayed no embarrassment at being discovered in so compromising a position, but smiled a broad smile of welcome out of the mirror, the while she continued to turn and to twist, and hold up a hand-glass to scrutinise more closely unknown aspects of face and head.“I know what you’ve come for! I’ve had two Freshers already. Bowled over at the thought of inventing a costume—that’s it, isn’t it? Oh, you’ll rise to it yet. The only difficulty is to hit on an idea—the rest’s as easy as pie. That’s what I’m doing now—studying my phiz to see what it suggests. My nose, now! What d’you think of my nose? Seems to me that nose wasn’t given me for nothing.Andthe width between the eyes! It’s borne in upon me that I must be either a turnip lantern or a Dutch doll. The doll would probably be the most becoming, so I’ll plump for that. Don’t breathe a word, for it must be a secret to the last. As for you—it would be easy to suggest a dozen pretty-pretties.”Margaret wheeled round in her chair, and sat nursing her knees, regarding Darsie with a twinkling eye. “Big eyes, long neck, neat little feet—you’d make an adorable Alice in Wonderland, with ankle-strap slippers, and a comb, and a dear little pinny over a blue frock! And your friend can be the Mad Hatter. Look well, wouldn’t she, with a hat on one side? There are only the girls to see you, and the more comic you can make yourself the better they’ll be pleased. You are about to be introduced to a new side of Newnham life, and will see how mad the students can be when they let themselves go. You’ll laugh yourself ill before the evening’s over. Well, think it over, and come back to me if you want any properties. My dress will be easy enough—braided hair, short white frock (butter-muslin at a penny the yard), white stockings with sandals, another pair of stockings to cover my arms, chalked face and neck, with peaked eyebrows and neat little spots of red on the cheekbones and tip of the chin. If you feel inclined to be angelic, you might run up with your paint-box at the last minute, and dab on my joints.”“Joints!”Darsie gaped in bewilderment, whereupon Margaret cried resentfully—“Well, I musthavejoints, mustn’t I? How do you expect me to move? A paint-box is invaluable on these occasions, as you’ll find before you are through. Now, my love, I’ll bid you a fond adieu, for work presses. By the by, one word in your ear! Don’t ask a third-year girl to dance with you if you value your nose!”“What will happen to it if I do?”“Snapped off! Never mind I look pretty and meek, and perhaps she’ll askyou. Now be off—be off—I must to work!”Darsie descended to Hannah’s study and proposed the idea of the Mad Hatter, the which was instantly and scornfully declined. Hannah explained at length that though her head might be plain, it yet contained more brains than other heads she could mention, and that to play the part of idiot for a whole night long was a feat beyond the powers of a mathematical student reading for honours. She then explained with a dignity which seemed somewhat misplaced that she had set her heart upon representing a pillar-box, and was even now on the point of sallying forth to purchase a trio of hat-boxes, which, being of fashionable dimensions, would comfortably encircle her body. Fastened together so as to form a tube, covered with red sateen, and supported by scarlet-stockinged legs, the effect would be pleasingly true to life.“I’ll have peep-holes for eyes, and the slit will outline my mouth. Between the dances I’ll kneel down in a corner so that the box touches the ground, and I’ll look so real, that I shall expect every one to drop inletters—chocolateletters, observe! You might buy some and set the example!”For the next twenty-four hours an unusual air of excitement and bustle pervaded the college, and the conversation at mealtime consisted for the most part of fragmentary questions and answers bearing on the important subject of costumes in making.“Lend me your boot brushes, like a lamb!”“Got an old pair of brown stockings you can’t wear again?”“Be an angel and lend me your striped curtains just for the night!”“Sparejustten minutes to sew up my back?”So on it went, and in truth it was a pleasant chance to hear the merry, inconsequent chatter; for, like every other class of the community, girl students have their besetting sins, and one of the most obvious of these is an air of assurance, of dogmatism, of final knowledge of life, against which there can be no appeal. Girls of nineteen and twenty will settle a dispute of ages with a casual word; students of economy will advance original schemes warranted to wipe the offence of poverty from the globe; science students with unlowered voices will indulge across the dinner-table in scathing criticisms on historic creeds which their fathers hold in reverence; and on each young face, on each young tongue, can be read the same story of certainty and self-esteem.This state of mind is either sad, amusing, or exasperating, according to the mood of the hearer; but, whatever be his mood, he yet knows in his heart that it is a transitory phase, and an almost inevitable result of theoretical knowledge. A few years of personal grip with life and its problems will make short work of that over-confidence, and replace it with a gentler, sweeter touch.But to-night was a night of frolic, and one would have to travel far indeed to find a more amusing spectacle than an impromptu costume dance in Clough Hall. Beauty is a secondary consideration, and the girl who has achieved the oddest and most ludicrous appearance is the heroine of the hour. Darsie Garnett made a fascinating Alice in Wonderland in her short blue frock, white pinny, and little ankle-strap slippers, her hair fastened back by an old-fashioned round comb, and eyebrows painted into an inquiring arch, but she received no attention in comparison with that lavished upon Hannah, when she dashed nimbly in at the door, and, kneeling down in a corner of the room, presented a really lifelike appearance of a pillar-box, a white label bearing the hours of “Chocolate deliveries” pasted conspicuously beneath the slit. Hannah’s prophecies proved correct, for it became one of the amusements of the evening to feed that yawning cavity with chocolates and other dainties, so that more than one sweet tooth in the assembly made a note of the suggestion for a future day.The Dutch Doll was another huge success; for so dolly and so beyond all things Dutch did she appear, standing within the doorway with jointed arms and rigid back, with dark hair plastered over the forehead in the well-known curve, and the three little spots of colour blazing out from the whitened background, that it was almost impossible to believe that she was living flesh and blood. Like a statue she stood until the laughter and applause had lasted for several minutes, and then, stepping jerkily on one side, made way for a new and even more startling apparition.Topsy, by all that was wonderful and unexpected! A beaming, grinning little nigger girl, with tightly curled hair, rolling eyes, and white teeth showing to the gums. A short gown of brilliantly striped cotton reached to the knees, brown-stockinged arms and legs were matched by brown-painted face and neck; standing side by side with the Dutch Doll, the respective whiteness and brownness became accentuated to a positively dazzling extent, and the onlookers were jubilant with delight. The climax was reached when the two waltzed off together round the room, the doll sustaining a delightful stiffness and stoniness of mien, while Topsy’s grin threatened to reach to her very ears.Ordinary costumes fell somewhat flat after these triumphs, though to the Freshers there was a continuing joy in beholding dignified students in their third year pirouetting in childlike abandonment. There, for instance, was the cleverest girl in college, of whom it was accepted as a certainty that she would become a world-wide celebrity, an austere and remote personage who was seldom seen to smile; there she stood, the daintiest Christmas Cracker that one could wish to behold, in a sheath of shimmery pink, tied in the middle by a golden string, finished at either end with a froth of frills, and ornamented front and back with immense bouquets of flowers. By an ingenious arrangement also, if you pulled a string in a certain way, a mysterious cracking sound was heard, and a motto made its appearance bearing an original couplet whose reference was strictly and delightfully local.The run on these mottoes was great, and after their points were fully enjoyed, they were folded carefully away, to be kept as souvenirs of the great scholar of later years.The evening was half over, and the girls had settled down to the dance, when suddenly, unexpectedly, the great excitement arrived. At a moment when the music had ceased, and the various couples were preparing for the usual promenade around the Hall, a loud roar was heard from without, and into the middle of the floor there trotted nothing more nor less than a tawny yellow lion, which, being confronted by a crowd of spectators, drew back as if in fear, and crouched in threatening manner. Its masked face showed a savage row of teeth; a mass of red hair, shortened by that mysterious process known as “back combing,” produced a sufficiently convincing mane; a yellow skin hearthrug was wrapped round the body, while paint and wadding combined had contrived a wonderfully good imitation of claws.It was the colour of the hair alone which revealed the identity of the Lion to her companions. “It’s that wretched little ginger Georgie!”“That little ginger beast!” went the cry from lip to lip. But, abuse her as they might, for the rest of the evening “Ginger Georgie” remained the centre of attraction, as she persistently ambled after Topsy, and gnawed at her brown feet, evidently recognising in her at once a compatriot and a tit-bit.Well, well!Il faut souffrire pour être—célèbre! When supper-time arrived, and the lion’s mask was removed, behold a countenance so magenta with heat that compared with it even the Letter Box herself was pale. The two sufferers were waited upon with the most assiduous attention, as was indeed only fair. When one has voluntarily endured a condition of semi-suffocation throughout an evening’s “pleasuring” for the unselfish reason of providing amusement for others, it’s a poor thing if one cannot be assisted to lemonade in return.The Lion sat up well into the night combing out her mane; the Letter Box had the first bad headache in her life, but both tumbled into bed at last, proud and happy in the remembrance of an historic success.
It was somewhat of a shock to the Fresher contingency to receive one morning the intimation of a Costume Ball, to be held in Clough Hall on the following night; but their protests met with scant sympathy from the elders. When Darsie plaintively declared that she hadn’t got a fancy dress, and would not have time to send home for it if shehad, a third-year girl silenced her by a stern counter-question: “And where, pray, would be the fun if youhad, andcould? If at the cost of a postcard you could be fitted up as the Lady of the Lake in green draperies and water-lilies, it would no doubt be exceedingly becoming, but it would be no sport. No, young woman, you’ve got to contrive something out of nothing and an hour stolen from the night, and when you’ve done it you’ll be in the mood to appreciate other people’s contrivings into the bargain. Buck up! You’re one of the dressy sort. We’ll expect wonders from you.”
But when Darsie repaired to the seclusion of her study and set herself to the problem of evolving a fancy dress out of an ordinary college outfit, ideas were remarkably slow in coming. She looked questioningly at each piece of drapery in turns, wondered if she could be a ghost in curtains, a statue in sheets, an eastern houri in the cotton quilt, a Portia in the hearthrug, discarded each possibility in turn, and turned her attention to her own wardrobe.
Black serge, grey tweed, violet ninon; two evening frocks, and the one white satin which was thepiece de resistanceof the whole. A cloth coat, a mackintosh, an art serge cloak for evening wear—howcouldone manufacture a fancy dress from garments so ordinary as these?
In despair, Darsie betook herself to Margaret France’s room and found that young woman seated before her dressing-table engaged in staring fixedly at her own reflection in the mirror. She betrayed no embarrassment at being discovered in so compromising a position, but smiled a broad smile of welcome out of the mirror, the while she continued to turn and to twist, and hold up a hand-glass to scrutinise more closely unknown aspects of face and head.
“I know what you’ve come for! I’ve had two Freshers already. Bowled over at the thought of inventing a costume—that’s it, isn’t it? Oh, you’ll rise to it yet. The only difficulty is to hit on an idea—the rest’s as easy as pie. That’s what I’m doing now—studying my phiz to see what it suggests. My nose, now! What d’you think of my nose? Seems to me that nose wasn’t given me for nothing.Andthe width between the eyes! It’s borne in upon me that I must be either a turnip lantern or a Dutch doll. The doll would probably be the most becoming, so I’ll plump for that. Don’t breathe a word, for it must be a secret to the last. As for you—it would be easy to suggest a dozen pretty-pretties.”
Margaret wheeled round in her chair, and sat nursing her knees, regarding Darsie with a twinkling eye. “Big eyes, long neck, neat little feet—you’d make an adorable Alice in Wonderland, with ankle-strap slippers, and a comb, and a dear little pinny over a blue frock! And your friend can be the Mad Hatter. Look well, wouldn’t she, with a hat on one side? There are only the girls to see you, and the more comic you can make yourself the better they’ll be pleased. You are about to be introduced to a new side of Newnham life, and will see how mad the students can be when they let themselves go. You’ll laugh yourself ill before the evening’s over. Well, think it over, and come back to me if you want any properties. My dress will be easy enough—braided hair, short white frock (butter-muslin at a penny the yard), white stockings with sandals, another pair of stockings to cover my arms, chalked face and neck, with peaked eyebrows and neat little spots of red on the cheekbones and tip of the chin. If you feel inclined to be angelic, you might run up with your paint-box at the last minute, and dab on my joints.”
“Joints!”
Darsie gaped in bewilderment, whereupon Margaret cried resentfully—
“Well, I musthavejoints, mustn’t I? How do you expect me to move? A paint-box is invaluable on these occasions, as you’ll find before you are through. Now, my love, I’ll bid you a fond adieu, for work presses. By the by, one word in your ear! Don’t ask a third-year girl to dance with you if you value your nose!”
“What will happen to it if I do?”
“Snapped off! Never mind I look pretty and meek, and perhaps she’ll askyou. Now be off—be off—I must to work!”
Darsie descended to Hannah’s study and proposed the idea of the Mad Hatter, the which was instantly and scornfully declined. Hannah explained at length that though her head might be plain, it yet contained more brains than other heads she could mention, and that to play the part of idiot for a whole night long was a feat beyond the powers of a mathematical student reading for honours. She then explained with a dignity which seemed somewhat misplaced that she had set her heart upon representing a pillar-box, and was even now on the point of sallying forth to purchase a trio of hat-boxes, which, being of fashionable dimensions, would comfortably encircle her body. Fastened together so as to form a tube, covered with red sateen, and supported by scarlet-stockinged legs, the effect would be pleasingly true to life.
“I’ll have peep-holes for eyes, and the slit will outline my mouth. Between the dances I’ll kneel down in a corner so that the box touches the ground, and I’ll look so real, that I shall expect every one to drop inletters—chocolateletters, observe! You might buy some and set the example!”
For the next twenty-four hours an unusual air of excitement and bustle pervaded the college, and the conversation at mealtime consisted for the most part of fragmentary questions and answers bearing on the important subject of costumes in making.
“Lend me your boot brushes, like a lamb!”
“Got an old pair of brown stockings you can’t wear again?”
“Be an angel and lend me your striped curtains just for the night!”
“Sparejustten minutes to sew up my back?”
So on it went, and in truth it was a pleasant chance to hear the merry, inconsequent chatter; for, like every other class of the community, girl students have their besetting sins, and one of the most obvious of these is an air of assurance, of dogmatism, of final knowledge of life, against which there can be no appeal. Girls of nineteen and twenty will settle a dispute of ages with a casual word; students of economy will advance original schemes warranted to wipe the offence of poverty from the globe; science students with unlowered voices will indulge across the dinner-table in scathing criticisms on historic creeds which their fathers hold in reverence; and on each young face, on each young tongue, can be read the same story of certainty and self-esteem.
This state of mind is either sad, amusing, or exasperating, according to the mood of the hearer; but, whatever be his mood, he yet knows in his heart that it is a transitory phase, and an almost inevitable result of theoretical knowledge. A few years of personal grip with life and its problems will make short work of that over-confidence, and replace it with a gentler, sweeter touch.
But to-night was a night of frolic, and one would have to travel far indeed to find a more amusing spectacle than an impromptu costume dance in Clough Hall. Beauty is a secondary consideration, and the girl who has achieved the oddest and most ludicrous appearance is the heroine of the hour. Darsie Garnett made a fascinating Alice in Wonderland in her short blue frock, white pinny, and little ankle-strap slippers, her hair fastened back by an old-fashioned round comb, and eyebrows painted into an inquiring arch, but she received no attention in comparison with that lavished upon Hannah, when she dashed nimbly in at the door, and, kneeling down in a corner of the room, presented a really lifelike appearance of a pillar-box, a white label bearing the hours of “Chocolate deliveries” pasted conspicuously beneath the slit. Hannah’s prophecies proved correct, for it became one of the amusements of the evening to feed that yawning cavity with chocolates and other dainties, so that more than one sweet tooth in the assembly made a note of the suggestion for a future day.
The Dutch Doll was another huge success; for so dolly and so beyond all things Dutch did she appear, standing within the doorway with jointed arms and rigid back, with dark hair plastered over the forehead in the well-known curve, and the three little spots of colour blazing out from the whitened background, that it was almost impossible to believe that she was living flesh and blood. Like a statue she stood until the laughter and applause had lasted for several minutes, and then, stepping jerkily on one side, made way for a new and even more startling apparition.
Topsy, by all that was wonderful and unexpected! A beaming, grinning little nigger girl, with tightly curled hair, rolling eyes, and white teeth showing to the gums. A short gown of brilliantly striped cotton reached to the knees, brown-stockinged arms and legs were matched by brown-painted face and neck; standing side by side with the Dutch Doll, the respective whiteness and brownness became accentuated to a positively dazzling extent, and the onlookers were jubilant with delight. The climax was reached when the two waltzed off together round the room, the doll sustaining a delightful stiffness and stoniness of mien, while Topsy’s grin threatened to reach to her very ears.
Ordinary costumes fell somewhat flat after these triumphs, though to the Freshers there was a continuing joy in beholding dignified students in their third year pirouetting in childlike abandonment. There, for instance, was the cleverest girl in college, of whom it was accepted as a certainty that she would become a world-wide celebrity, an austere and remote personage who was seldom seen to smile; there she stood, the daintiest Christmas Cracker that one could wish to behold, in a sheath of shimmery pink, tied in the middle by a golden string, finished at either end with a froth of frills, and ornamented front and back with immense bouquets of flowers. By an ingenious arrangement also, if you pulled a string in a certain way, a mysterious cracking sound was heard, and a motto made its appearance bearing an original couplet whose reference was strictly and delightfully local.
The run on these mottoes was great, and after their points were fully enjoyed, they were folded carefully away, to be kept as souvenirs of the great scholar of later years.
The evening was half over, and the girls had settled down to the dance, when suddenly, unexpectedly, the great excitement arrived. At a moment when the music had ceased, and the various couples were preparing for the usual promenade around the Hall, a loud roar was heard from without, and into the middle of the floor there trotted nothing more nor less than a tawny yellow lion, which, being confronted by a crowd of spectators, drew back as if in fear, and crouched in threatening manner. Its masked face showed a savage row of teeth; a mass of red hair, shortened by that mysterious process known as “back combing,” produced a sufficiently convincing mane; a yellow skin hearthrug was wrapped round the body, while paint and wadding combined had contrived a wonderfully good imitation of claws.
It was the colour of the hair alone which revealed the identity of the Lion to her companions. “It’s that wretched little ginger Georgie!”
“That little ginger beast!” went the cry from lip to lip. But, abuse her as they might, for the rest of the evening “Ginger Georgie” remained the centre of attraction, as she persistently ambled after Topsy, and gnawed at her brown feet, evidently recognising in her at once a compatriot and a tit-bit.
Well, well!Il faut souffrire pour être—célèbre! When supper-time arrived, and the lion’s mask was removed, behold a countenance so magenta with heat that compared with it even the Letter Box herself was pale. The two sufferers were waited upon with the most assiduous attention, as was indeed only fair. When one has voluntarily endured a condition of semi-suffocation throughout an evening’s “pleasuring” for the unselfish reason of providing amusement for others, it’s a poor thing if one cannot be assisted to lemonade in return.
The Lion sat up well into the night combing out her mane; the Letter Box had the first bad headache in her life, but both tumbled into bed at last, proud and happy in the remembrance of an historic success.