A College Girl, Mrs George de Horne Vaizey [good non fiction books to read txt] 📗

“Better to die by sudden shock,
Than perish piecemeal on the rock!”

The old couplet which as a child she had been used to quote darted back into her mind with a torturing pang. How much longer of this agony could she stand? Anything, anything would be better than this dragging on in suspense, hour after hour. But when once again the little party approached the Senate House, she experienced a swift change of front. No, no, this was not suspense; it was hope! Hope was blessed and kindly. Only certainty was to be dreaded, the grim, unalterable fact.

The little crowd of girls pressed forward to read the lists. Darsie peered with the rest, but saw nothing but a mist and blur. Then a voice spoke loudly by her side; Hannah’s voice:

“First Class! Hurrah!”

Whom did she mean? Darsie’s heart soared upward with a dizzy hope, her eyes cleared and flashed over the list of names. Hannah Vernon—Mary Bates—Eva Murray—many names, but not her own.

The mist and the blur hid the list once more, she felt an arm grip her elbow, and Dan’s voice cried cheerily—

“A Second Class! Good for you, Darsie! I thought you were going to fail.”

It was a relief. Not a triumph; not the proud, glad moment of which she had dreamed, but a relief from a great dread. The girls congratulated her, wrung her hand, cried, “Well done!” and wished her luck; third-class girls looked envious and subdued; first-class girls in other “shops” whispered in her ear that it was an acknowledged fact that Modern Languages had had an uncommonly stiff time this year. Modern Languages who had themselves gained a first class, kept discreetly out of the way. Hannah said, “See, I was right! Are you satisfied now?” No one showed any sign of disappointment. Perhaps no one but herself had believed in the possibility of a first class.

The last band of students turned away from the gates with a strange reluctance. It was the last, the very last incident of the dear old life—the happiest years of life which they had ever known, the years which from this moment would exist but as a memory. Even the most successful felt a pang mingling with their joy, as they turned their backs on the gates and walked quietly away.

Later that afternoon Dan and Darsie found themselves strolling across the meadows towards Grantchester. They were alone, for, the picnic having fallen through, Mr and Mrs Vernon had elected to rest after the day’s excitement, and Hannah had settled herself down to the writing of endless letters to relations and friends, bearing the good news of the double honours.

Darsie’s few notes had been quickly accomplished, and had been more apologetic than jubilant in tone, but she honestly tried to put her own feelings in the background, and enter into Dan’s happiness as he confided to her his plans for the future.

“I’m thankful I’ve come through all right—it means so much. I’m a lucky fellow, Darsie. I’ve got a rattling opening, at the finest of the public schools, the school I’d have chosen above all others. Jenson got a mastership there two years ago—my old coach, you remember! He was always good to me, thought more of me than I deserved, and he spoke of me to the Head. There’s a vacancy for a junior master next term. They wrote to me about it. It was left open till the lists came out, but now! now it will go through. I’m safe for it now.”

“Oh, Dan, I’m so glad; I’m so glad for you! You’ve worked so hard that you deserve your reward. A mastership, and time to write—that’s your ambition still? You are still thinking of your book?”

“Ah, my book!” Dan’s dark eyes lightened, his rugged face shone. It was easy to see how deeply that book of the future had entered into his life’s plans. He discussed it eagerly as they strolled across the fields, pointing out the respects in which it differed from other treatises of the kind; and Darsie listened, and sympathised, appreciated to the extent of her abilities, and hated herself because, the more absorbed and eager Dan grew, the more lonely and dejected became her own mood. Then they talked of Hannah and her future. With so good a record she would have little difficulty in obtaining her ambition in a post as mathematical mistress at a girls’ school. It would be hard on Mrs Vernon to lose the society of both her daughters, but she was wise enough to realise that Hannah’s metier was not for a domestic life, and unselfish enough to wish her girls to choose the most congenial rôles.

“And my mother will still have three at home, three big, incompetent girls!” sighed Darsie in reply, and her heart swelled with a sudden spasm of rebellion. “Oh, Dan, after all my dreams! I’m so bitterly disappointed. Poor little second-class me!”

“Don’t, Darsie!” cried Dan sharply. He stood still, facing her in the narrow path, but now the glow had gone from his face; it was twisted with lines of pain and anxiety. “Darsie! it’s the day of my life, but it’s all going to fall to pieces if you are sad! You’ve done your best, and you’ve done well, and if you are a bit disappointed that you’ve failed for a first yourself, can’t you—can’t you take any comfort out of mine? It’s more than half your own. I’d never have got there by myself!”

“Dan, dear, you’re talking nonsense! What nonsense you talk! What have I done? What could I do for a giant like you?”

Dan brushed aside the word with a wave of the hand.

“Do you remember when we were talking last year, beside the fire, in the old study one afternoon, when all the others were out, talking about poor Percival, and your answer to a question I asked? ‘He needs me, Dan!’ you said. I argued very loftily about the necessity of a man standing alone and facing his difficulties by himself, and you said that was true, but only a part of the truth. I’ve found that out for myself since then. If that was true of Percival, it is fifty times truer of me! I need you, Darsie! I shall always need you. I’ve not a penny-piece in the world, except what my father allows me. I shall probably always be poor. For years to come I shall be grinding away as a junior master. Even when the book is written it can never bring much return in a monetary sense, but success will come in the end, I’ll make it come! And when it does, it will belong to you as much as to me. You’ll remember that?”

“Yes... Thank you, Dan!” The answer came in a breathless gasp. Darsie’s big eyes were fixed upon Dan’s face in rapt, incredulous gaze. The cramp of loneliness had loosened from her heart; the depression had vanished; a marvellous new interest had entered into her life; she was filled with a beatific content.

“I’ll remember! I’ll be proud to remember. But—I don’t understand!”

“I don’t understand myself,” said Dan simply. “I only know it is true. So don’t get low, Darsie, and don’t be discouraged. You’re in a class by yourself, and all the honours in the world couldn’t improve you. And now that’s over, and we start afresh!”

It was like Dan to hurry back with all speed to more practical talk. Darsie understood, and was satisfied. They stood together for another moment looking back on the massed towers and spires of Cambridge, then slowly, reluctantly, turned away.

A new life lay ahead, its outline vague and undefined like that of the landscape around, but the sun was shining. It shone full on their young faces, as they went forward, hand in hand.