Darsie rose to her feet and stood for a moment before the mirror, putting a tidying touch to hair and dress. She was a tall, slim girl, nearly a head taller than the more substantial Clemence, and the easy grace which characterised her movements was the first thing which attracted an unaccustomed eye. Even Clemence, with perceptions dulled by custom, felt dimly that it was an agreeable thing to watch Darsie brush her hair and shake out her skirts, though in another person such acts would be prosaic and tiresome. The crisp hair needed nothing but a brush and a pat to settle itself into a becoming halo of waves, and the small face on the long white neck had a quaint, kitten-like charm.

Clemence looked from the real Darsie to the reflected Darsie in the gla.s.s, and felt a sudden knife-like pang.

"Oh, how I _hate_ you going! How dull it will be. Why _couldn't_ you be content to stay at home instead of taking up this Newnham craze? I shall miss you hideously, Darsie!"

Darsie smiled involuntarily, then n.o.bly tried to look sad.

"I expect you will, but one grown-up at home is as much as we can afford, and there'll be lovely long vacs. You must think of those, and the letters, and coming up to see me sometimes, and term time will pa.s.s in a flash. I'll be back before you realise that I'm gone."

Clemence pouted in sulky denial.

"Nothing of the sort. It will seem an age. It's easy to talk! People who go away have all the fun and excitement and novelty; it's the poor stay-at-homes who are to be pitied. How would you like to be me, sitting down to-morrow morning to darn the socks?"

"Poor old Clem!" said Darsie lightly. A moment later, with relenting candour, she added: "You'll like it a lot better than being examined by a Cambridge coach! So don't grouse, my dear; we've both got the work we like best--come down to lunch, and let's see what mother has provided for my go-away meal!"

Darsie slid a hand through Clemence's arm as she spoke and the two sisters squeezed down the narrow staircase, glad in their English, undemonstrative fashion of the close contact which an inherent shyness would have forbidden except in this accidental fashion. Across the oil- clothed pa.s.sage they went, into the red-walled dining-room, where the other members of the family waited their arrival.

Mrs Garnett smiled at the traveller with a tinge of wistfulness on her face; the four young people stared, with a curiosity oddly infused with respect. A girl who was on the eve of starting for college had soared high above the level of ordinary school. Lavender, at "nearly seventeen," wore her fair locks tied back with a broad black ribbon; her skirts reached to her ankles; she was thin and angular; her head was perpetually thrust forward, and a pair of spectacles were worn perpetually over the bridge of her pointed little nose. The description does not sound attractive, yet in some mysterious manner, and despite all drawbacks, Lavender _did_ manage to be attractive, and had a select band of followers at school who practised stoops and poked-out heads out of sheer admiration of her defects.

Harry's voice was beginning to croak, which, taken together with a dawning pa.s.sion for socks, ties, and brilliantine, was an unmistakable sign of growing up; Russell was preternaturally thin and looked all arms and legs; while Tim had forsaken knickers for full-fledged trousers, and resented any attempt at petting as an insufferable offence.

One and all were on their best company manners on the occasion of Darsie's last lunch, and the most honeyed replies took the place of the usual somewhat stormy skirmish of wits; nevertheless, there was a universal feeling of relief when the meal was over, and a peal at the bell announced the arrival of the cab which was to convey Darsie and a girl companion on the first stage of their journey.

If anything could have added to Darsie's joy in the fulfilment of a lifelong ambition, it would have been the fact that Hannah Vernon was to be her companion at Newnham, as she had been through the earlier schooldays. All the Vernon family were dears of the first water, and might have been specially created to meet the needs of their neighbours, the Garnetts. It is true that the Vernons possessed the enviable advantage of a big grown-up brother, but when the Garnetts felt particularly tried on this score, they sought comfort from the reflection that a brother so solemn and scholarly, so reserved and unresponsive, hardly counted as a brother at all. Dan was already in the second year of his Cambridge course, and was expected to do great things before he left. So far as such a sober person could be made useful, Darsie Garnett intended to use him towards the furtherance of her own enjoyment of the new life.

For the rest, Vie, the eldest daughter of the Vernon household, was the sworn ally and confidante of Clemence, and John, the younger son, was in himself such a tower of mischievous strength that the Garnett trio sat at his feet. Last, but certainly not least, came Hannah, and Hannah was--Darsie would have found it an almost impossible task to describe "plain Hannah" to an unfortunate who had not the honour of her acquaintance. Hannah was Hannah, a being distinct by herself-- absolutely different from any one else. To begin with, she was extraordinarily plain; but, so far from grieving over the fact, Hannah wore it proudly as the foremost feather in her cap.

It was she herself who had originated and sanctioned the continued use of the sobriquet, which had its origin in a juvenile answer given by herself to a stranger who inquired her name.

Now Hannah was the only member of the family who was limited to one cognomen, so she answered unthinkingly, "Hannah; _plain_ Hannah!" and instantly descrying the twinkling appreciation in that stranger's eyes, she twinkled herself, and henceforth led the adoption of the t.i.tle.

Long use had almost deadened its meaning in the ears of the family, but strangers still suffered at the hearing.

Plain Hannah's face peered cheerily out of the cab window, her little eyes twinkled merrily, her preposterous eyebrows arched in derision of the melancholy group upon the doorsteps. No one dared shed a tear when she was so evidently on the watch for any sign of weakness, sentimental farewells were checked upon the speaker's lips, and the whole business of parting a.s.sumed a lighter, a more matter-of-fact air.

A second big box was hoisted on to the cab roof, a few kisses shamefacedly exchanged, and then the travellers were off, and nothing remained to the watchers but to trail drearily back into a house from which half the brightness seemed to have departed.

Well might Clemence say that the worst pain of a parting fell on those who were left behind! While the stay-at-homes struggled heavily through a long afternoon, in every moment of which the feeling of loss became even more acute, Darsie and plain Hannah were enjoying one of the most exciting experiences of their lives.

In spite of an almost lifelong interest in Cambridge, neither girl had as yet visited the town itself, so that each incident of the journey was full of interest and excitement. The station was disappointingly like other stations, and they had abundant opportunity of examining it at leisure, since the porters rushed in a body to attend to the male students who had arrived at the same time, and who could be trusted to give larger tips than their female companions. The drive through the streets also fell short of expectations; but, after all, Cambridge meant Newnham, and there could be no disappointment there! Peered at through the cab window, the building appeared unexpectedly large and imposing.

It gave one a thrill of importance to realise that for the next three years one would be part and parcel of its life, an inhabitant of its great halls.

The cabman descended from the box and rang a peal at the bell, and it came as something as a shock to see an ordinary-looking maid throw open the door, though what exactly they had imagined the girls would have found it difficult to say. The maid inquired their names, led them forward through a long corridor, and flung open the door of a sitting- room where a lady sat before a desk. It was a pretty, cheerful-looking apartment, full of flowers, books, pictures, and quaint old-world furniture, and the lady herself looked so much like other middle-aged ladies, that if you had not known it you would never have suspected her of being the Vice-President of a Women's College.

She was kind and agreeable. She shook hands, and hoped you were well; hoped you had had a pleasant journey, hoped you would be happy in College, hoped you would like your rooms; but there was a certain mechanical quality in her voice which betrayed the fact that she had said the same thing over and over again on innumerable occasions, would say it twenty times or more this very afternoon, and that your own personal arrival left her perfectly calm and cool.

The girls stuttered and stammered in response, felt vaguely crestfallen, and worried as to what they should do next, but the Vice herself was in no doubt. "She hoped they were ready for tea," and with a wave of the hand summoned the maid to lead them a stage forward on their journey.

The second stage deposited the new-comers in the dining-hall, where tea was already in progress, and about a dozen disconsolate-looking Freshers were munching at bread-and-b.u.t.ter and cake in a silence which could be felt. Apparently Darsie and Hannah were the only ones of the number lucky enough to have come up in pairs, but even their tried powers of speech were paralysed beneath the spell of that terrible silence, and still more so by the relentless scrutiny of those twelve pairs of eyes.

And how those Freshers _did_ stare! The whites of their eyes positively shone, as with one accord the pupils turned towards the opening door.

They had been stared at themselves, had come through the ordeal of being the last arrival; now, with thanksgiving, they were revenging themselves upon fresh victims! Darsie felt a horrible certainty that she would drop her cup, and spill the tea over the floor; plain Hannah munched and munched, and looked plainer than ever, with her shoulders half-way up to her ears and her chin burrowed in her necktie.

Presently the door opened again, and another Fresher entered, cast a frightened glance around, and subsided on to the nearest chair, while every eye turned to gaze upon her, in her turn. This programme was enacted several times over before Darsie and Hannah had finished tea, and were ready to be escorted to the upstairs apartments, which were to act as bedroom and study combined.

Mercifully the rooms were close together, so that, leaving Darsie half- way along the corridor, the maid could point to a door near at hand, where she could join her friend when her inspection was complete. She entered with the feeling of one on the threshold of a new life, and stood gazing around in mingled disappointment and delight. The first impression was of bareness and severity, an effect caused by the absence of picture or ornament of any kind. A small white bed stood in one corner; a curtain draped another, acting as a subst.i.tute for a wardrobe; a very inadequate screen essayed unsuccessfully to conceal a wooden washstand, and a small square of gla.s.s discouraged vanity on the part of an occupant. So far, bad! but, on the other hand, the room contained inexpensive luxuries, in the shape of an old oak chest, a bureau, a standing bookcase, and a really comfortable wicker chair.

Darsie could hardly believe that these treasures were meant for her own use; it seemed more likely that they had belonged to a former student, who would presently demand their return. She was sorrowfully resigning herself to this contingency when the door burst open, and in rushed Hannah, aglow with excitement.

"I've got a chest, and a bookcase, and a bu--"

Her eyes rounded with surprise. "I say! So have you--I thought I _was_ swag! Do you suppose it's the usual thing?"

"Can't say. Topping for us if it is. But the screen's a wretch, and the walls will need a _lot_ of covering. My few mites of pictures will go nowhere. There's not _too_ much room for our clothes, either. We'd better unpack, I suppose, and get out things for dinner. What are you going to wear?"

"Oh, something--whatever comes handy," replied plain Hannah in her most casual manner.

The subject seemed to her of infinitesimal importance; but Darsie went through many agitations of mind before she decided on a high-necked summer frock, and then suffered still keener pangs because, on descending to Hall, several Freshers were discovered in full evening dress, and, in her imagination at least, eyed her lace yoke with disdain.

Dinner was almost as silent as tea--an ordeal of curious, appraising eyes, as each Fresher continued to stare at every other Fresher, condemning her mentally for want of frankness and kindliness, while utterly neglecting to practise these virtues on her own account. Then one by one the girls slunk upstairs, tired, shy, and homesick, and crept gratefully into their narrow beds.

Sleep was long in coming to Darsie Garnett that night: she lay awake hour after hour, living over again in thought the events of the last three years.

First and foremost her thoughts went back to the old great-aunt to whose generosity she owed the present fulfilment of her ambition. Until Lady Hayes's death, a year ago, Darsie had spent the major part of her holidays at The Towers, and the friendship between the old woman and the girl had developed into a very real affection.

It had been a wonderful experience, Darsie reflected, to watch the gradual mellowing of character, the patient endurance of suffering, the peaceful death which was so truly a "falling asleep." Until that time Darsie had felt all a girl's natural shrinking from death, but the sight of Aunt Maria's peaceful face had dissipated that fear once for all. As she knelt by the bedside looking at the still, majestic features, she offered the most fervent prayer of her life--a prayer that she, too, might be enabled to "submit her way," and so in the end find peace in her soul!

Her acquaintance with the Percival family had ripened into friendship, so that, though Noreen and Ida could never by any chance supplant the Vernon sisters, there were moments when she actually felt more at home with Ralph than with queer, silent Dan.

Ralph, at twenty-one, had outgrown many of his boyish failings--or rather, as Darsie shrewdly surmised, had attained the art of screening them from _view_. Instead of snubbing his sisters' friends and adopting airs of haughty superiority, he was now all deference and attention, transparently eager for her society. Dan, on the contrary, was absorbed in work; he had taken the Longs in summer, so that Darsie had no chance of meeting him before starting on her annual visits to Lady Hayes. In the Easter vac. he had visited France and Germany to study languages, while at Christmas-times he was at once too shy and too busy to take part in the daily excursions indulged in by his brothers and sisters.

He was doing brilliantly at College, and as a better preparation for his life's work had decided on a four-years course--taking the Tripos in two parts, in both of which it was a foregone conclusion that he would take a first-cla.s.s.

Ralph Percival was contentedly slacking it in preparation for a pa.s.s degree. "What did it matter?" he demanded serenely. One came to Cambridge, don't you know, because all one's people had been there, because it was the thing to do, and a rattling old place for sport and having a good time. He would be confoundedly sorry when it was over.

Only wished he could slack it out for twice as long!

Darsie first frowned, and then smiled to herself in the dark as she recalled those utterances, and the actions fitly symbolised her sentiments towards the heir of the Percivals. Her head had no mercy for such an utter want of ambition and energy, but the heart plays often a bigger part than the head in an estimate of a fellow-creature, and Darsie's heart had a way of making excuses for the handsome truant, who smiled with such beguiling eyes, had such a pretty knack of compliment, and was--generally!--ready to play knight-errant in her service. She felt herself lucky in possessing so charming a friend to act the part of gallant, and to be at her service when she chose to call. And then quite suddenly she drew a sharp breath and said aloud in a trembling voice, "Oh, Aunt Maria, dear Aunt Maria!" and her pillow was wet with tears; for Aunt Maria was dead, had died too soon to hear of her grand- niece's experiences at Newnham, to which she had looked forward with such interest, but not before evoking a real love and grat.i.tude in Darsie's heart. How thankful the girl was to remember that she had been able to cheer the last year of that lonely life, to recall every loving word and action, every tiny sc.r.a.p of self-denial on her own part which had repaid in some small way the great gift to herself. Thankful and grateful she would be to the end of her life, but she was not, and had not even pretended to be, _sorry_ that Aunt Maria was dead.

"She was old, and she was lonely, and she was ill. I'm _glad_, not sorry," she had declared to the scandalised Lavender. "I'm glad she'll never come hobbling downstairs again, and sit all the long, long day in one chair, waiting for it to end. I'm _glad_ she's forgotten all about her back, and her feet, and her head, and her joints, and all the thousand parts that ached, and could not rest. I'm _glad_ she doesn't need any more spectacles, and sticks, and false teeth, nor to have people shouting into her ear to make her hear. I'm thankful! If I'd hated her I might have liked her to live on here, but I loved her, so I'm glad. She has gone somewhere else, where she is happy, and cheerful, and _whole_, and I hope her husband has met her, and that they are having a lovely, lovely time together..."

Darsie was glad, too, in quite an open, unconcealed fashion, when a legacy of a few thousand pounds lifted a little of the strain from her father's busy shoulders, made it possible to send Harry and Russell to a good boarding-school, continue Clemence's beloved music lessons, and provide many needfuls for household use. It was not only pleasant but absolutely thrilling to know that as long as she herself lived she would, in addition, possess fifty pounds a year--practically a pound a week--of her very, very own, so that even when she grew too old to teach, she could retire to a tiny cottage in the country, and live the simple life. In the meantime, however, she was young, and life stretched ahead full of delicious possibilities and excitements.

Her great ambition had been achieved. She was a student at Cambridge; the historic colleges whose names had so long been familiar on her lips lay but a few streets away, while in her own college, close at hand, along the very same corridor, lay other girls with whom she must work, with whom she must play, whose lives must of a surety touch her own.

What would happen? How would she fare? When the last night of her three-years course arrived, and she lay as now in this narrow white bed, staring across the darkened room which had been her home, what would her dreams be then? What pictures would arise in the gallery of her mind?

What faces smile at her out of the mist?

"Oh, G.o.d," sighed Darsie in a soft, involuntary appeal, "help me to be good!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.