"Just as you please," said Eileen. "I'll run up to Miss Colchester's room and find out if she is in."

Lettie and Marjorie remained on the sweep of gravel outside the hall.

Eileen ran into the house. In a few minutes she returned, accompanied by Leslie.

"This is really kind of you," said Leslie. "I was wondering how I could get to the Broad, for I don't know many girls yet; but I am told that some of the students will call on me to-night."

"They are to call on us, too," said Eileen. "It is rather formidable, is it not?"

"But, Miss Gilroy, don't you want to buy things for your room?"

"A few things I must have," said Leslie, "but I rather despair of making a room shared with Miss Colchester pretty; all the same, I will do my best."

The girls visited Hunt's well-known shop in the Broad and gave their orders. Lettie's were extensive. She must have pictures. Burne-Jones'

"Love among the Ruins," "The Happy Warrior" by Watts, "St. Cecilia and a Choir of Angels" by Van Eyck, and other treasures were secured.

Knick-knacks also were bought by the young lady, who had a keen eye to effect. She bought big jars of dark-blue china, a few cups and saucers, two or three plates, a fan or two, a couple of screens, a few aesthetic-looking tablecloths, and a piano-cloth to cover the back of her chest of drawers. A pretty little tea-service, a bra.s.s kettle, and a tea-table which could fold up and be put out of the way when not needed for use, were also secured. Finally she treated herself to a great bunch of flowers and some flowering plants.

Her purchases took time, and in spite of themselves Eileen and Marjorie were interested. After a great deal of persuasion they were induced to buy a table and some very plain cups and saucers.

"We will not get any more; it is downright sinful waste," said Marjorie, frowning as she spoke.

"All right," said Lettie. "I am not going to influence you. You are at present under the awful eye of Belle Acheson. By and by you will see for yourselves that it is the height of nonsense not to live in comfort when you can. Now, look at Miss Gilroy; she has more sense than to make herself miserable when she need not."

"I certainly do not intend to make myself miserable," said Leslie.

"There are several useful purchases that I must make. I have the misfortune," she continued, glancing from one girl to the other, "to sleep in the room with a genius, and must provide accordingly."

"It is such a pity you cannot have a room to yourself," said Eileen. "I trust the annoyance won't last long."

"I hope not," said Leslie. "Yes, I must have one of those pretty art table-cloths, and then I want to go to a grocer's where I can buy cocoa and biscuits and tinned milk."

After a good deal of time spent in making their various purchases, the girls returned to the college well laden. They met several of their companions, who nodded to them kindly.

"I consider that we are now settled in college and that our real life begins to-morrow," said Leslie. "I have arranged about my work, and mean to study hard after dinner to-night."

"You won't have much chance of that," said a merry voice, and Jane Heriot came up.

"Why so?" asked Leslie.

"How do you do?" said Jane, nodding to the two Chetwynd girls. She then turned to Leslie.

"I will tell you why you won't have any chance, Miss Gilroy. A whole party are coming to visit you in your rooms this evening; it is the custom, and you must submit. You will see half of us to-night and half of us to-morrow; but after that you will be left in peace. If you like our society you can have it; if you don't-why, you can keep as lonely as you like. But this evening and to-morrow you must put up with us; it is the fate of all freshers."

CHAPTER XVI

FRESHERS.

In less than a week's time the four freshers were completely settled into the life at St. Wode's. They had their work marked out for them, the lectures they were to attend were definitely arranged, the books they were to read were selected, some from the library, some from Green's in the Broad. They joined the tennis, racquets, and boating clubs; Eileen and Marjorie, having submitted to the necessary test, were made full-blown members of the latter club immediately. Leslie had to take a few swimming lessons before she could do so.

Annie Colchester had begun to make friends with Leslie. She submitted to her roomfellow's ministrations at night, gulping down the cup of hot cocoa which Leslie, evening after evening, presented to her, drinking it, it is true, as one in a dream, her red-brown eyes looking far ahead of her, her heavy brows contracted in an anxious frown. Nevertheless she got into bed in reasonable time, and Leslie saw that her feet were no longer cold nor her forehead burning.

Leslie determined to try for honors in English language and literature.

Her tastes all lay in this direction, her idea being by and by to follow her mother's profession of journalism, for which she already showed considerable apt.i.tude. As she intended to aim at a first, or, at least, second cla.s.s, her range of study was very wide; and German, French, and Italian literature had to be more or less understood in order to give her a thorough and complete grip of her subject. But Leslie was a healthy girl; she had been well trained, she had plenty of self-possession, and an abundance of strong common-sense. She had no idea of allowing herself to break down. In order to avoid such a catastrophe, she divided her hours carefully, allowing a certain amount for recreation and a certain amount also for the guiding of her wayward companion, to whom, as the days went on, she became really attached.

As to Annie herself, this was the first time she had ever permitted the advances of any student. This large room at St. Wode's had been more or less of a worry to the governors, and it was finally settled, when Annie's time to leave the college arrived, that it should be divided by a part.i.tion and let in future to two students. Up to the present no girl had ever stayed more than one term with Annie. Remembering this, Annie, one day toward the middle of the term, raised her eyes from her books and fixed them on Leslie.

"You will be glad when the term is over, won't you?" she said abruptly.

"What do you mean?" replied Leslie.

"Why, you will be parting from me, you know. I won't be the constant worry and plague of your life. If I take honors I shall be leaving St.

Wode's. In any case, you are quite certain to wish for another room, and to get it also next term. If I do remain, therefore, I shall be plagued with some terrible student of the Florrie Smart or Jane Heriot style. I nearly went mad over the last one; you can scarcely guess what a relief you are, by way of contrast."

"Thank you very much indeed for saying anything so nice," replied Leslie; "and perhaps now you will allow me in my turn to make a remark.

It is this: If by any chance you don't leave St. Wode's, Annie, I hope you will allow me to be your roomfellow again next term."

"Do you mean it?" said Annie, a flash of light coming into her eyes, and then leaving them. "But," she added abruptly, "you speak of something which must not take place. I must pa.s.s in honors; if I don't I shall die."

"And you are certain to succeed," said Leslie in a tone of sympathy. "I wish I could feel as sure of taking honors by and by in literature. I find these modern languages so very stiff."

"What are you studying now?" asked Annie.

"I have to take German literature from 1500 to the death of Goethe,"

said Leslie. "The course is enormous, and I am sometimes almost in despair."

"But you have only just come; you can easily manage, and in any case, even if you fail--"

"I do not mean to fail any more than you do," replied Leslie.

Annie did not smile. Her queer red-brown eyes with their distended pupils gazed straight before her.

"It can never mean the same to you," she said at last in a solemn voice, and then she looked down again at her book, pushed her hands through her red locks, and resumed her contemplation of the problem which lay before her.

A few moments later there came a tap at the door. Annie did not hear it.

Leslie opened the door.

Jane Heriot stood without.

"These letters have just come for you and Annie Colchester," she said: "and, as I was coming upstairs, I thought I would leave them with you."

Leslie thanked her and eagerly grasped the little parcel. There were two letters for herself-one from her mother and one from Llewellyn. Her eyes shone with pleasure at the antic.i.p.ation of the delightful time she would have reveling in the home news; the other letter was directed to Annie Colchester.

Now Leslie had not failed to remark that Annie seldom or never got letters, that she had made no real friends in the college, and that, as far as she could tell, she seemed to have no special friend anywhere.

"Here is a letter for you, Annie," cried Leslie. "I am so glad that you have got one at last--"