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-butter 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 substitute for a wardrobe; a very inadequate screen essayed unsuccessfully to conceal a wooden washstand, and a small square of glass 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-class.

Ralph Percival was contentedly slacking it in preparation for a pass 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 gratitude 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 scrap 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, God," sighed Darsie in a soft, involuntary appeal, "help me to be good!"



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—I don'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's our turn! 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 was too much 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 never do supply 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 whom I should 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 to use it! 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 at all the 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 kettle of a— What advance on eightpence? Freshers would do well to consider this opportunity before it is too late. What an—an inebriating effect, 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! At ninepence. 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, is ever even 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.

"No bids 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'? No bids! 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. What offers for the Botticelli? Any Fresher who wishes to prove herself endowed with refined and artistic—One shilling? Thank you, madam. And sixpence! 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. Thank you, 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. I have enjoyed it. She is amusing and clever."

"Think so?" said Helen coolly. "Really? Glad you were pleased. It's usually far better 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 have eaten hockey 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—really kissed, 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. "I have been 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 would stay ahead, and so give the chance of a prolonged tete-a-tete with 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. You are honoured!"

"Didn't ask me, I notice!" sniffed Hannah huffily. "No twin soul here. Recognised an affinity in you, I suppose."

"Well, I wasn'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. There is mud, and there are stars. 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 who will make 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, to trace its 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 teach that erudite 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 do not wish 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's own home, 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 she mad?"

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 she had, a third-year girl silenced her by a stern counter-question: "And where, pray, would be the fun if you had, and could? 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 the piece de resistance of the whole. A cloth coat, a mackintosh, an art serge cloak for evening wear—how could one 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. And the 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 must have joints, 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 ask you. 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 in letters—chocolate letters, 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!"

"Spare just ten 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 etre—celebre! 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.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

UNDERGRADUATE FRIENDS.

Hannah strolled into Darsie's study, open letter in hand. "Here's games!" she announced. "An invitation from Mrs Hoare for myself and friend—that's you—to go to tea on Sunday afternoon. That's because I'm Dan's sister, of course. He'll be there, too, I expect, and the handsome Percival, and lots more men. The question is, shall we go?"

Now Mrs Hoare was the wife of the head of that well-known college of which Dan and Ralph were members, and the invitation was therefore the fulfilment of one of Darsie's dreams.

"Of course we'll go!" she cried ardently. "Sunday tea at a man's college is part of the Cambridge programme, and we want to see all that we can. Personally, I consider that they might have asked us before." She lay back in her seat, and stared dreamily at the wall, puckering her brow in thought, the while Hannah chuckled in the background.

"I know what you are thinking about!"

"You don't!" cried Darsie, and blushed, a deep guilty blush.

"I do! Costume for Sunday, and the question of possibly squeezing out three or four shillings to buy an extra bit of frippery to add to your charms!"

"Boo!" cried Darsie impatiently; then with a sudden change of front: "And if I was, I was perfectly right! Newnham girls are not half careful enough about their appearance, and it tells against the cause. A perfect woman, nobly planned, ought to be as clever as she is—er— dainty, and as dainty as she is clever."

"Thank you for the concession! Very considerate of you, I'm sure. If you had stuck to 'beautiful,' I should have been hopelessly left out. Even 'dainty' is beyond me, I'm afraid; but I'll promise you to be neat and tidy, and saints can do no more—if they happen to have been born plain saints, that's to say!"

Hannah stood in front of the mirror, staring back at her flat, square face with an expression of serenely detached criticism.

"If you are the beauty of this college, I run a close race for the booby prize! Bit of a handicap that, if you care about popularity. This Sunday afternoon now! they'll all be buzzing round you like so many flies, while I do wallflower in a corner. Nonsense to say that looks don't count! So far as I can see, the difference between your face and mine will probably make the difference in our lives. You'll marry a lord of high degree, and I'll school marm and be maiden aunt."

"Oh, Hannah!" Darsie was acutely discomfited by such words from Hannah's lips. True they were spoken in matter-of-fact tones, and without the suspicion of a whine, but as the first instance of anything approaching a lament, the occasion was historic. "Oh, Hannah, dear— it's only at first! After the first no one cares a rap what you look like, so long as you're nice."

"Fal-de-ral!" cried Hannah scornfully. "Of course they care! Any one would—should myself, but you needn't look so hang-dog, my dear. It's not your fault, and I am quite comfortable, thank you. If any man ever wants to marry me, I'll know jolly well that it's for myself, and that he really loves me through and through. There isn't any of the glamour business about this child to make him imagine that he cares, when it's only a passing phase. And if it's my lot to live alone, I'll back myself to be as happy as most wives I come across. It's my own big, splendid life, and I'm going to make it splendid, or know the reason why!" Hannah struck a dramatic gesture, danced a few fancy steps in an elephantine manner, and stumped towards, the door. "So be it, then! We accept with pleasure, and I'll leave you to trim your hat."

Whether or no any such embellishment did take place history sayeth not, but it is certain that Darsie Garnett made a very charming picture on the following Sunday afternoon, and that her dainty style of beauty showed to peculiar advantage against the oak panelling of the stately old room in which the head of —- College and his gracious, fragile- looking wife dispensed tea to their guests.

The first few minutes after their arrival were rather an ordeal to the two Freshers, who had never before been present at such a gathering, and felt themselves the cynosure of every eye; but the kindness of host and hostess soon put them at their ease.

A fair sprinkling of college men were in the room, handing round tea and cakes to the guests. Dan Vernon greeted Darsie with an illuminating "Halloa!" and his sister with an even shorter grunt; but it was only when she was comfortably settled down to tea that Darsie caught sight of Ralph Percival's fair, close-clipped head at the far side of the table. He seemed in no hurry to speak to her—a fact duly scored against him in Miss Darsie's mind, and this indifference served to pique her into a more vivacious reception of the attentions of his companions.

As Hannah had foretold, her pretty friend held quite a little court as one man after another strolled up to join the animated group around her chair. There were two other girls in that group, and a married woman with a strikingly sweet face, who had been introduced as the sister of the hostess. Mrs Reeves, as she was called, appeared to be on intimate terms with the men, and her presence, instead of acting as a restraint, only added to their enjoyment. Darsie thought that she was a charming creature, was conscious that she herself was being scrutinised with special attention, and sincerely hoped that the verdict was favourable. It was a curious person who did not wish to stand well in Alicia Reeves's estimation!

Suddenly Ralph Percival edged in at the back of the group, and stationed himself by Darsie with an air of possession.

"Well, Miss Darsie Garnett, isn't it about time that you had some talk with me?"

"Quite time!" Darsie's tone was eloquent, and she looked Ralph in the face with a quiet steadiness, at which he had the grace to blush. He had been in no hurry to claim acquaintanceship until her social success was assured; she was fully aware of the fact, but her pique died a rapid death as she looked closely into the lad's face. Ralph at twenty-two was as handsome as in his boyhood, handsomer, indeed, but there were other changes, which the girl's eyes were quick to read; for though we may keep silence with our tongue, the hand of Time imprints marks upon our features which are unfailing guides to our spiritual progress or decline.

For many months past Ralph Vernon had persistently allowed himself to fall short of his best, slacking in work, overstepping at play, abandoning "straightness" for a gathering mesh of deceit. Attached to his name was an unsavoury reputation of card-playing for high stakes, of drinking too much, although not to the extent of actual drunkenness; and the character had alienated from him the friendship of serious men, and evoked a disapproving aloofness in the manner of his instructors. At the moment when he most needed help those who were best fitted to give it sedulously avoided his company, and in this first moment of meeting Darsie was tempted to follow their example.

Horrid to look like that! At his age to own those lines, those reddened eyes, that dulled white skin! Up went the little head, the slender neck reared itself proudly, the red lips curled over small white teeth. Darsie intended to wither Ralph by the sight of such obvious distaste, but with the easy vanity of his nature he attributed her airs to girlish pique at his own neglect, and was correspondingly elated thereat.

The little schoolgirl who had been his sister's friend had grown into a "stunning girl," with whom the men were evidently greatly impressed. Ralph decided that the hour had come to claim her as an old friend and take her under his wing. He sat himself down by her side and persistently monopolised her attention.

"College life evidently suits you, Darsie. You are looking rippingly well!"

"Am I? Sorry to be unable to return the compliment!"

"Oh!" Ralph moved impatiently. "Don't you begin that tune! It is dinned into my ears from morning till night. A fellow may swot himself into a rag, and not a word will be said, but if he oversteps an inch for his own amusement there's the dickens to pay. I said from the start that I intended to have a good rag. College is one of the best times in a man's life, and he's a fool if he doesn't make the most of his chance."

"It is also—incidentally—supposed to be a time for mental improvement," returned Darsie in sententious tones, which brought upon her an instant rebuke.

"Oh, for pity's sake don't come the Newnham swag over me! Can't stand those girls as a rule. Avoid 'em like poison. Take my advice as an old friend and avoid that style as you would the plague. You're too jolly pretty to come the strong-minded female. Far better stick to your old style. Men like it a heap better."

"It is a matter of perfect indifference to me what men like!" declared Darsie, not, it is to be feared, with absolute veracity. "I am proud to be a Newnhamite, and if the girls do have a few mannerisms, they count for precious little beside their virtues. They are up to work, and they do work with might and main, though there can be no place in the world where there is no fun. We are always having some prank or other— politicals, and cocoa-parties and hockey matches, and dances—"

"What's the fun of dances with no men to dance with? Wait till May term, and see what a real ball is like. We'll have some river picnics, too, and breakfasts at the Orchard. There's lots to be done in summer, but just now there's nothing on but teas. You must come to tea in my rooms. I've got a slap-up study." He turned towards Mrs Reeves and addressed her with confident familiarity. "Mrs Reeves will play chaperon, and I'll promise you the best cakes that Cambridge can produce."

"Oh, yes, I'll play chaperon." To Darsie's surprise the sweet-faced woman smiled back into Ralph's face with friendly eyes, not appearing even to notice the over-confidence of his manner. "Mr Percival gives charming parties, and I can answer for it that his boast as to the cakes is justified. I can never fathom where he gets them."

She turned to Darsie with a little gesture of confidence, and slightly lowered her voice. "I am known as 'the Professional Chaperon.' I hope you will engage my services if you are in need of such a personage, but perhaps we ought to know one another a little better first. I should like so much to know you! Will you come to see me one afternoon next week when you are free, and feel inclined for a chat? I won't ask any one else, so that we can have a real cosy time."

Surprised and gratified, and more than a little flattered, Darsie mentioned her free hours, and received in return Mrs Reeves's card bearing an address in Grange Road, then once more Ralph engrossed her attention.

"I say! You might ask Ida up for a night or two, and bring her along. They'll let you have a friend now and then, and she'd like it all right. Awfully decent in writing to me, Ida is, and fights my battles at home. Sensible girl! Understand it's no good to jaw. I'd like to have Ida up for a bit."

"So would I. I'll ask her with pleasure." One of Ralph's best points had been his affection for his sisters, and the reminder thereof softened Darsie's heart. She smiled at him with recovered friendliness. "I'll ask Ida, and you must ask Dan and Hannah Vernon, and make a nice family party. Do you see much of Dan? I don't expect he makes a rag of himself over amusement!"

Ralph shrugged carelessly. "I've no use for Vernon! Good head for routine work, but as a pal, dull as you make 'em! I'll ask him once as you make a point of it, but I don't fancy you'll want him twice. As for the sister—but perhaps I'd better not make any remarks?"

"Much better!" Darsie said frostily. "Your manners have not improved, Ralph. I think, if you please, that I would rather not talk to you any more for the present. Would you tell Dan Vernon that I want him to take your place?"

It was the first, the very first time in her life that Darsie had essayed the part of queening it over a member of the opposite sex, and the success of the venture was startling even to herself. Ralph flushed, flinched, rose without a word, and stalked across the room to summon Dan as required; and Dan came meekly forward, seated himself in the discarded chair, and faced her with an air of solemn expectation. His rugged face looked plain and roughly hewn in contrast with Ralph's classical features, but the dark eyes were eloquent as of yore, and the sight of the tilted chin brought back a score of old-time memories. Darsie looked at him with satisfaction, but with a disconcerting blankness of mind as to what to say first. From the other side of the room Ralph was looking on with cynical eyes; it was imperative that the silence should be broken at once.

"Dan, please say something! I wanted Ralph to go, so I asked for you. Do please find something to say."

Dan smiled broadly. Each time that she saw him smile Darsie wondered afresh how she could ever have thought him plain. His dark eyes glowed upon her with the look she liked best to see.

"What am I to say? It's good to see you here, Darsie. You are looking very—well! Everything going all right? Sure there's nothing I can do?"

"No." Darsie beamed happily. At that moment there seemed nothing left to wish. Dan's friendliness gave the finishing touch to her content, and the world was couleur de rose. "I am loving it all more than I expected. The work's glorious, and the play's glorious, and I'm just absorbed in both. It's splendid, coming here to-day to see this lovely old house and meet you again. I thought you had forgotten all about me."

But Dan had drawn back into his shell, and refused to be cajoled. He glowered at the opposite wall for some minutes, then asked abruptly—

"Why did you send off Percival?"

"Oh—!" Darsie hesitated, and then answered with discretion: "I had talked to him as much as I cared about for the moment, and I shall see him soon again. He is going to get up a tea-party for me, with that sweet Mrs Reeves as chaperon. I told him to ask you and Hannah."

"You should not have done that!" Dan spoke with sharp displeasure. "I don't care to accept Percival's hospitality for myself, and certainly not for my sister. I shall tell Hannah to refuse."

Darsie glanced across to where Hannah sat, a typical plain Hannah at that moment, with feet planted well apart, and on her face the expression of dour determination which she adopted in moments of boredom; from her to Ralph Percival, standing in graceful pose, his fine, almost feminine, profile outlined clearly against the panelled wall, and, glancing, laughed softly to herself. It seemed so ridiculous to think of this girl needing protection from this man.

"I fancy Hannah is quite capable of looking after herself."

"I'm sure of it. She's a new-comer, however, and she doesn't get into Percival's set if I can help it."

"Dan! It can't be so bad if Mrs Reeves is willing to go. She accepted in a minute. I heard her myself."

"She goes everywhere, to the wildest fellows' rooms. She has her own ideas, no doubt, but I don't profess to understand them." He hesitated, puckering his brows, and looking at her with dark, questioning eyes. "I have no authority over you, Darsie, but I wish—"

"Ralph saved my life," interrupted Darsie simply.

Dan looked at her sharply, stared with scrutinising attention at her face, but spoke no further word of protest. He evidently realised, as Darsie did herself, that it would be a mean act to reject the friendship of a man who had wrought so great a service.

Half an hour later the two girls slowly wended their way past the tower gateway of Trinity, past Caius, with its twinkling lights, stately King's, and modest Catherine's, to the homelike shelter of their own dear Newnham.

"Well!" cried Hannah, breaking a long silence, "you had a big success and I had—not! But you're not a bit happier than I, that I can see. Men are poor, blind bats. I prefer my own sex; they are much more discriminating, and when they like you—they like you, and there's no more shilly-shally. Those men never know their own minds!"



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

MRS. REEVES MAKES A PROPOSAL.

Four days later Darsie went by appointment to her tete-a-tete tea with the professional chaperon with a pleasurable expectation which was largely streaked with curiosity.

If physiognomy counted for anything, Mrs Reeves must surely be a most sweet and noble character. Her grey eyes looked into yours with a straight, transparent gaze, her lips closed one upon another firmly enough to debar all trace of weakness, yet not so firmly as to hint at undue severity, her hair waved back from a broad white brow. It was, as Dan had said, difficult to understand how such a woman could be the willing companion of men whom even fellow-students were anxious to shun. Darsie wondered if the afternoon's conversation would throw any light on this knotty point.

She was shown, not into the drawing-room but into a cosy little den on the second floor, a sort of glorious edition of a college study, where Mrs Reeves sat reading by the fire, clad in a loose velvet gown of a curious reddish-brown, like the autumn tint of a leaf, which matched the high lights of her chestnut hair. Darsie watched her with fascinated attention as she presided over the tea-table, with lithe, graceful movements which made a poem out of the every-day proceeding, and Mrs Reeves studied her in return, as she chatted lightly about a dozen casual subjects. Then the tea-things were carried away, and with the drawing nearer to the fire conversation took a more intimate turn.

"I hope your friend did not think me inhospitable for not including her in my invitation to-day, but when I want to get to know a girl I prefer to have her entirely to myself. Perhaps she will come another day. Vernon's sister ought to be worth knowing."

"You know Dan?" Darsie's smile was somewhat anxious, for Dan's own manner with respect to her hostess was still a disturbing element. "You know him well?"

"No," Mrs Reeves smiled; "not well. But I like him well by repute! Vernon has no need of my services. He is strong: enough to stand by himself."

"You mean tea-parties?" queried Darsie vaguely, whereat Mrs Reeves subsided into a ripple of laughter.

"No, I do not mean tea-parties—something very much wider. I don't fancy, however, that Vernon is sociably disposed, and the authorities here are not inclined to encourage meetings between the men and girl students. The head of his college is my brother-in-law, and one of your Dons is a very old friend, so I hear the question discussed from both sides, and then—like a wise woman—I gang my own gait! So long as men are men, and girls are girls, they are bound to attract each other; it's natural and right, and when they are bound to meet in any case, it is my little hobby to help them to do so under the best conditions. I flatter myself I am quite an expert in the art of being just chaperon enough, and not too chaperon, and I never refuse to act if I can possibly contrive to do so."

"No! Dan said—" began Darsie involuntarily, and then stopped short with a furious blush. Mrs Reeves, however, did not share her discomfiture; she laughed, and said shrewdly—

"Oh, I have observed his disapproving eye. I can guess what he said. Many people feel the same, who judge only from the surface, and don't take the trouble to realise my motives. One doesn't explain such things to the world in general, but I want you to understand. If one man less admirable than another; if his friends and his entertainments are inclined to become rowdy and discreditable, does he need help less, or more? Vernon and other men of his kind consider that they do their duty by leaving such a man severely alone. I find mine in being with him— just—as much—as ever I can!" She emphasised the words by a series of taps with the poker on the top of an obstinate coal, given in the most delightfully school-girlish manner. "I chaperon his parties; I talk to him and his friends; I make myself so agreeable that they love to have me, and want to have me again. I try with every power I possess to encourage all that is good, and kind, and honest, and cheering in themselves and their conversation, and deftly, delicately, invisibly, as it were, to fight against everything that is mean and unworthy. It's difficult, Darsie!—I may call you Darsie, mayn't I? it's such a beguiling little name!—one of the most difficult feats a woman could set herself to accomplish, and though I've had a fair measure of success, it's only a measure. It's such a great big work. Think of all that it means, that it may mean to England, if we can keep these men from drifting, and give them a pull-up in time! I am constantly looking, looking out for fellow-workers. That's why I invited you here to-day—to ask you to be on my side!"

"I!" Darsie's gasp of amazement sounded throughout the room. "I! Oh, you can't mean it! What could I do? I can do nothing—I'm only a girl!"

"Only a girl! But, dear child, that's your finest qualification! You can do more than I can ever accomplish, just because you are a girl, and will be admitted to an intimacy which is impossible for me. Besides, Darsie, you are a particularly pretty and attractive girl into the bargain; you know that, don't you? You ought to know it, and be very, very thankful for a great weapon given into your hands. If you will join the ranks with me, and act as my curate, you will immensely increase my power for good."

"But I can't! I can't! I'd love to if I could, but you don't know how impossible it is. I couldn't preach to save my life."

"I'm thankful to hear it. I don't want you to preach. You'd soon lose your influence if you did. It's a case of being, Darsie, rather than doing; being your truest, sweetest, highest self when you are with these men, so that they may feel your influence through all the fun and banter. Lots of fun, please; you can't have too much of that; a dull girl is soon left to herself. People in general don't half realise the influence of just right thinking—the atmosphere which surrounds a person who is mentally fighting for good. The sunbeams fall on the dark earth and soak up the poisoned waters, and so may our thoughts—our prayers," She was silent for a few moments, her hand resting lightly on Darsie's knees. "There is a girl in your house—Margaret France—I expect you know her! She has been one of my best helpers these last years. Wherever Margaret is there is fun and laughter; she is just brimful of it, but—can you imagine any one going to Margaret with an unworthy thought, an unworthy cause? I want you to follow in her steps!"

She paused again for a long minute, then said slowly and emphatically—

"Ralph Percival needs help, Darsie! He has not fallen very low as yet, but he is drifting. He is in a bad set, and, like too many of our richer men, he lacks purpose. They come up here because their fathers have been before them, and it is the correct thing to do. There is no real reason why they should work, or take a high place, but there seems to themselves every reason why they should have a good time. Parents sometimes seem to hold more or less the same opinion; at others they seem distressed, but powerless. College authorities are regarded as natural enemies; religious influences for the time beat on closed doors; now, Darsie, here comes the chance for 'only a girl!' A man like Ralph Percival, at this stage of his life, will be more influenced by a girl like you than by any power on earth. It's a law of Nature and of God, and if every girl realised it, it would be a blessed thing for the race. I once heard a preacher say that so long as one dealt with general principles, and talked broadly of the human race, there was very little done. We have to fine it down to my next door neighbour before we really set to work. Fine down what I have said to Ralph Percival, Darsie, and help me with him! He's drifting. He needs you. Help me to pull him back!"

Darsie nodded dumbly. Mrs Reeves thought the expression on her downcast face touchingly sweet and earnest, but even she missed the clue to the girl's inmost thought.

Years ago she herself had been drifting, drifting towards death, and Ralph had stepped forward to save her; now, in an allegorical sense, the positions were reversed, and she was summoned to the rescue. There was no refusing a duty so obvious. Heavy and onerous as the responsibility might be, it had been placed in her hands. Darsie braced herself to the burden.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

CHRISTMAS DAY.

It was Christmas Day; fifteen eventful months had passed by since Darsie Garnett and Hannah Vernon had made their appearance in Clough in the character of modest and diffident Freshers. Now, advanced to the dignity of second-year girls, they patronised new-comers with the best, and talked, thought, and behaved as though, deprived of their valuable support, the historical centre of Cambridge must swiftly crumble to the dust.

The little air of assurance and self-esteem which seems inseparable from a feminine student had laid its hand on Darsie's beauty, robbing it of the old shy grace, and on each fresh return to the old home Clemence and Lavender eloquently described themselves as "squelched flat" by the dignified young woman who sailed about with her head in the air, and delivered an ultimatum on every subject as it arose, with an air of "My opinion is final. Let no dog bark!"

These mannerisms, however, were only, after all, a veneer; and when two or three days of merry, rollicking family life had passed by, the old Darsie made her appearance once more, forgot to be learned and superior, forbore to refer to college and college ways in every second or third sentence, and showed a reviving interest in family affairs.

Clemence was fatter than ever, a subject of intense mortification to herself, though at each fresh meeting she confided in whispered asides that she had "lost five pounds—ten pounds," as the case might be. No one believed in these diminutions, but if one happened to be amiably disposed, one murmured vaguely, and affected conviction; and if one were not, one openly jeered and scoffed! Lavender was sentimental and wrote poetry in which "pale roses died, in the garden wide, and the wind blew drear, o'er the stricken mere." She had advanced to the dignity of long skirts, and dressed her hair—badly!—in the latest eccentricity of fashion.

Vie Vernon, on the contrary, had developed into a most elegant person, quite an accomplished woman of the world, darkly suspected of "going to be engaged" to a young lawyer with a dark moustache, who had lately developed a suspicious fondness for her father's company.

It really gave one quite a shock to realise how grown-up the old companions had become even the brothers Harry and Russell were transformed into tall striplings who bought newspapers on their own account, and preferred, actually preferred, to be clean rather than dirty! It was a positive relief to listen to Tim's loud voice, look at his grimy paws, and reflect that one member of the family was still in the enjoyment of youth.

As usual, the postman's arrival was the first excitement of Christmas morning. He brought with him an armful of letters and parcels, and Darsie was quick to spy Ralph Percival's handwriting upon one of the smallest and most attractive-looking of the packets.

The colour came into her cheeks as she looked, but after holding the parcel uncertainly for a moment, she laid it down again, and proceeded to open other letters and boxes, leaving this particular one to the last. An onlooker would have been puzzled to decide whether it was more dread or expectation which prompted this decision; and perhaps Darsie herself could hardly have answered the question. The table was soon spread with envelopes and wrappings of paper which had enclosed souvenirs from college friends, and the more costly offerings from Mrs Percival and her girls, inscribed with the orthodox words of greeting. Darsie ranged them in order, and then, still hesitating, turned to the last packet of all.

Inside was a note folded so as to act as additional wrapper for a small white box. Ralph's writing, large and well-formed like himself, filled the half-sheet.

"Dear Darsie,—I hope you will accept the enclosed trifle which has been made for you, from my own design. You will understand its meaning! I am more than ever in need of pulling up! Don't fail a fellow, Darsie!

"Yours,—

"Ralph B. Percival."

Inside the box lay a small but beautifully modelled anchor brooch, with a fine golden rope twined round the stock. Darsie looked at it with the same mingling of joy and pain which seemed inseparable from each stage of her friendship with this attractive but irresponsible young man.

It was just like Ralph to have thought of this pretty and graceful way of expressing his sentiments, and it was not in girl nature to resist a glow of gratified vanity; but as she turned the golden anchor in her hands and realised the significance of the symbol, an old impatience stirred in Darsie's heart. A man who trusted to another for anchorage in life, and who was ever in danger of breaking loose and drifting on to the rocks, was not the strong knight of a young girl's dreams. There were moments when the protecting tenderness which had prompted the last year's efforts gave place to sudden intolerance and resentment.

Inspired by Mrs Reeves's words in her first term at college, Darsie had set gallantly to the task of influencing Ralph Percival for good, and preventing his further deterioration. At first it had appeared a forlorn hope; and she would have despaired many a time if it had not been for the encouragement which she received from Mrs Reeves and her "curate," Margaret France. Then gradually and surely her influence had begun to make itself felt. It could not truthfully be said that she had so inspired Ralph that he had turned over a new leaf, and abandoned bad practices from a desire for the right itself. If the truth must be told, desire for his pretty mentor's approbation and praise had been a far stronger factor in the improvement which seemed to have been effected.

Ralph was emotional, and as his interest in Darsie deepened into the sentimental attachment which seemed a natural development of their intimacy, he grew increasingly anxious to stand well in her estimation. During the May term there had been teas in the college gardens, breakfast parties at the Orchard, picnics on the river, which had afforded opportunities of tete-a-tete conversations when, amidst the flowers and the sunshine, it had been quite an agreeable sensation to lament over one's weaknesses and shortcomings, and to receive in return the wisest of counsels from Darsie's pretty lips.