"When did you say the debate would begin?" asked Eileen.

"Within an hour."

"Then you have time first to tell us something of your college life."

"I can do so if you like. We have a great deal of liberty here; and, provided we don't break the rules, we are not likely to get into hot water. The studious girls work as a rule in the morning, play games in the afternoon, and work again after dinner, until whatever hour they wish to go to bed. We are all expected to be in bed soon after midnight, and no one is allowed to be outside the gates after half-past ten, unless special leave is given. By the way, do you know any people in Wingfield, Miss Gilroy?"

"I have an introduction to one of the Dons, Mr. Matcheson," said Leslie; "but I don't know him yet."

"Oh, you are in great luck if you get into the Matcheson set," said Jane with a slight look of envy flitting across her face. "They are some of the nicest people in Wingfield, and they have such delightful Sunday evenings; they are sure to invite you to them. Do you know any people, Miss Chetwynd?"

"Not a soul," said Marjorie, sinking down upon a corner of Jane's sofa, "and I am not likely to," she added; "for when once we take up our work in earnest we shall have no time for social frivolities."

"Social frivolities!" repeated Jane; "but half the good of the place is its social life. You won't get the benefit you ought to derive from a residence at St. Wode's unless you take up the social as well as the learned side of the life."

"I don't understand you," said Marjorie, knitting her pretty brows.

"I must try and explain. I see by Miss Gilroy's face that she does."

Leslie nodded and smiled.

"One of the many benefits of coming to college is to strengthen the social side of one's character," said Jane. "When Miss Frere or Miss Maple ask you to tea, they will discourse much on that point. A college girl ought to have wider sympathies, and to be less selfish all round, than a girl who knows only the ordinary home life. Oh, I have not a word to say against home girls, but certainly college life does strengthen one. Now, here we have heaps of opportunities; we know so many girls, we enter into their lives, we have a delightful feeling of comradeship. The wide outside world, which we get a glimpse of from our own dear little paradise, is most strengthening to our characters. You ask some of the older girls here what they think of St. Wode's. They will tell you that it is a paradise, an oasis. We are all happy; devoid of care. And the hockey and tennis clubs, and the boating club-they are all so charming that we cannot but have a gay time. There are twenty boats belonging to St. Wode's College; and on the long summer afternoons we go up the river a good distance, and very often do our work under the trees; so you can imagine how jolly everything is. But of course there are certain rules.

No girl can belong to the boating club, for instance, unless she can swim in fifty feet of water."

"I can stand that test," said Marjorie eagerly, "and I should rather like to be in a boat. Eileen and I have rowed a good deal on the sea since we were quite children."

"Can you swim, Miss Gilroy?" asked Jane.

"I am afraid I cannot," replied Leslie; "but I don't think I am much of a coward, and can soon learn," she added. "You see I have spent all my life in London, and have not had a chance of learning."

"Oh, if you are a London girl you ought to have courage for anything!

Then, besides the boating club, we have our bicycle clubs, and our debating society, and our dramatic society. Oh, yes, it is a very full life, and those derive most benefit from the college who enter into it in its divers branches as much as possible."

"All that social frivolity will not suit me," said Marjorie, breaking the silence that followed Jane's rapid flow of words.

"Why so?"

"Because my sister and I-I am sure I can speak for her as well as myself-have come here for a definite purpose. If we had stayed at home we should have gone in for all those other things. We know a very earnest student who belongs to this college, and she has given us quite different particulars with regard to the life. She did not speak of it as you have done, Miss Heriot."

"May I know the name of that girl?" asked Jane.

"Certainly you may; she is a great friend of ours. I believe her room is in West Hall; her name is Belle Acheson."

A queer, convulsed sort of look pa.s.sed over Jane's face for a quarter of a second, then vanished. She looked solemnly at Eileen.

"Are you a great friend of Miss Acheson's?" she asked.

"Certainly. We have known her since we were children. But why do you inquire?"

"I am sorry-that is all," said Jane.

"Sorry? What can you mean? Do you know her?"

"We all know her more or less. I have nothing to say against her personally except that she does not take the best the college affords. I hope you will not-- But forgive me. I am a stranger to you; I ought not to interfere."

"It would certainly be better for you to say nothing more," said Marjorie in her gentle voice. "Belle is a friend of ours. Yes," she continued, "we have come here to learn, and we don't wish to be narrow-minded; but we are quite determined that we will not waste our time nor our money in dress or ornaments."

Here she glanced disapprovingly round the exquisitely furnished little room.

"We mean to work hard; we shall have no time for amus.e.m.e.nt."

Jane muttered something under her breath; then she said cheerfully:

"I am not the one to lecture you. Come, what shall I show you? It will soon be time to go down to hall to the debate. Now, how can I amuse you?"

"We don't want amusing," said Eileen; "that's just the very point we wish you to clearly understand. If you can tell us anything about the poor in Wingfield, or what philanthropic societies are started, or if there are cla.s.ses for the teaching of cookery and domestic economy, we shall be greatly obliged to you."

"But why did you come here?" said Jane, opening her eyes wide. "This is a place for the acquiring of academic learning, not for--"

"It is the place where Belle Acheson is acquiring her profound knowledge of life," said Marjorie in a slow voice.

Jane looked at her with a puzzled expression.

Just then there came a tap at the door, and two girls named Alice and Florrie Smart, put in an appearance. They were fashionably dressed, and rushed up to Jane and kissed her.

"Dear old Janie, how are you?" said Alice.

"Oh, we have had such a jolly time," interrupted Florrie. "We were out with the Davidsons all the afternoon, and thought we should be late. We wouldn't miss the debate to-night for a thousand worlds. Freshers? Do I see freshers here? Pray introduce me, Janie."

Jane performed her duties in a somewhat perfunctory manner. She was puzzled by Eileen and Marjorie, could not understand them, and was scarcely prepared to like them; but Leslie had already stolen into her heart.

CHAPTER XIV

A COCOA PARTY-CONTINUED.

"Are the graces forgotten by the modern woman?" was the subject of the debate that evening. The opener's speech was made by Miss Frere, who boldly threw down the gauntlet, reminded the girls a.s.sembled before her of some of the perils which lay across their paths, and a.s.sured them that the old graces of politeness, of gentleness, of loving service, of all that made woman n.o.ble and graceful ought to be part of the new life which was opening its doors wider and wider each day for the happy modern girl.

"If in grasping the new we let go of the old, we make a vast mistake,"

she continued, her eyes flashing with suppressed fire. "We leave out what has made woman n.o.ble and great in the past. We shut away deliberately a vast influence which would otherwise help to pervade the world, for a woman can be graceful, pleasant to look at, agreeable, and not silly. She may be sympathetic without being sentimental. She may be, in the best sense, womanly without sinking into a nonent.i.ty."

Miss Frere's words were full of feeling, and Leslie listened to her with an ever-growing admiration. In such tones, with almost similar words, had her own mother often spoken to her. From that moment she believed in Miss Frere, and determined to do her utmost to secure the friendship of one who looked so n.o.ble and spoke so well.

Marjorie and Eileen, however, fidgeted, rumpled up their short locks, and glanced impatiently one at the other.

The opener's speech lasted about twenty minutes; then came the speech from the opposition. Marjorie could not help starting as she heard Belle Acheson's well-known voice. Her words were forcible and full of power, put together with much grammatical fluency, and absolutely to the point.