A College Girl, Mrs George de Horne Vaizey [good non fiction books to read txt] 📗
- Author: Mrs George de Horne Vaizey
- Performer: -
Book online «A College Girl, Mrs George de Horne Vaizey [good non fiction books to read txt] 📗». Author Mrs George de Horne Vaizey
The Dutch Doll was another huge success; for so dolly and so beyond all things Dutch did she appear, standing within the doorway with jointed arms and rigid back, with dark hair plastered over the forehead in the well-known curve, and the three little spots of colour blazing out from the whitened background, that it was almost impossible to believe that she was living flesh and blood. Like a statue she stood until the laughter and applause had lasted for several minutes, and then, stepping jerkily on one side, made way for a new and even more startling apparition.
Topsy, by all that was wonderful and unexpected! A beaming, grinning little nigger girl, with tightly curled hair, rolling eyes, and white teeth showing to the gums. A short gown of brilliantly striped cotton reached to the knees, brown-stockinged arms and legs were matched by brown-painted face and neck; standing side by side with the Dutch Doll, the respective whiteness and brownness became accentuated to a positively dazzling extent, and the onlookers were jubilant with delight. The climax was reached when the two waltzed off together round the room, the doll sustaining a delightful stiffness and stoniness of mien, while Topsy’s grin threatened to reach to her very ears.
Ordinary costumes fell somewhat flat after these triumphs, though to the Freshers there was a continuing joy in beholding dignified students in their third year pirouetting in childlike abandonment. There, for instance, was the cleverest girl in college, of whom it was accepted as a certainty that she would become a world-wide celebrity, an austere and remote personage who was seldom seen to smile; there she stood, the daintiest Christmas Cracker that one could wish to behold, in a sheath of shimmery pink, tied in the middle by a golden string, finished at either end with a froth of frills, and ornamented front and back with immense bouquets of flowers. By an ingenious arrangement also, if you pulled a string in a certain way, a mysterious cracking sound was heard, and a motto made its appearance bearing an original couplet whose reference was strictly and delightfully local.
The run on these mottoes was great, and after their points were fully enjoyed, they were folded carefully away, to be kept as souvenirs of the great scholar of later years.
The evening was half over, and the girls had settled down to the dance, when suddenly, unexpectedly, the great excitement arrived. At a moment when the music had ceased, and the various couples were preparing for the usual promenade around the Hall, a loud roar was heard from without, and into the middle of the floor there trotted nothing more nor less than a tawny yellow lion, which, being confronted by a crowd of spectators, drew back as if in fear, and crouched in threatening manner. Its masked face showed a savage row of teeth; a mass of red hair, shortened by that mysterious process known as “back combing,” produced a sufficiently convincing mane; a yellow skin hearthrug was wrapped round the body, while paint and wadding combined had contrived a wonderfully good imitation of claws.
It was the colour of the hair alone which revealed the identity of the Lion to her companions. “It’s that wretched little ginger Georgie!”
“That little ginger beast!” went the cry from lip to lip. But, abuse her as they might, for the rest of the evening “Ginger Georgie” remained the centre of attraction, as she persistently ambled after Topsy, and gnawed at her brown feet, evidently recognising in her at once a compatriot and a tit-bit.
Well, well! Il faut souffrire pour être—célèbre! When supper-time arrived, and the lion’s mask was removed, behold a countenance so magenta with heat that compared with it even the Letter Box herself was pale. The two sufferers were waited upon with the most assiduous attention, as was indeed only fair. When one has voluntarily endured a condition of semi-suffocation throughout an evening’s “pleasuring” for the unselfish reason of providing amusement for others, it’s a poor thing if one cannot be assisted to lemonade in return.
The Lion sat up well into the night combing out her mane; the Letter Box had the first bad headache in her life, but both tumbled into bed at last, proud and happy in the remembrance of an historic success.
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
Comments (0)