A College Girl Part 27

"No!"

"But you look strange. You--you didn't hurt yourself at the rink?"

"No."

"Quite, quite sure?"

"Quite."

Darsie subsided on to her favourite seat--the hearthrug--with a little sigh of relief.

"That's all right. You're very monosyllabic, Dan. Shall I disturb you if I sit here for a time?"

"No."

"A hundred thanks! You are _too_ gracious. I can be quiet if you like.

I like staring into the fire and dreaming myself."

Dan did not answer. Darsie peered at him, moving her little head from side to side so as to get the clearest view. He looked very large--a great shapeless ma.s.s of dark in the old red chair.

She liked the bigness of him, felt the old satisfaction at sight of the strong, rugged face, the old craving for confidence and approval.

Strange how different one felt in company with different people. _Tete- a-tete_ with Ralph Percival, Darsie felt a giant of strength and resource--a.s.sured, self-confident, a bulwark against which others might lean. With Dan, well, with Dan she was just a slip of a girl, conscious of nothing so much as her own weaknesses, mental and physical; her difficult gropings, compared with his clear vision; her tiny hands and wrists, compared with his big sinewy paw; her slim form, compared to the bulk of the square-cut shoulders. Never--Darsie realised it with a smile--never did she feel so humble and diffident as when in Dan's society; yet, strangely enough, the sensation was far from disagreeable.

"Dan!"

"Darsie!"

"Is anything the matter? Between you and me! You don't happen to be snarkey, do you, about anything I've done?"

"Why should you think I am 'snarkey'?"

"Because--you _are_! You're not a bit sociable and friendly--even _your_ sort of sociability. I'm a guest in your mother's house if I'm nothing else and it's your duty to be civil."

"Haven't I always been civil to you, Darsie?"

Darsie drew a quick breath of impatience and, seizing upon the poker, beat at the unoffending coal as the best method of letting off steam.

"You are so painfully literal. I can _feel_ what other people are thinking, however much they try to disguise it."

"How do _I_ feel, for example?"

Darsie turned her head and stared curiously into Dan's face. The hand on which it leaned shielded it somewhat from view, but, even so, there was something in the intent gaze which filled her with a strange new discomfort. She turned back to her poking once more.

"I think--there's something that I don't understand--I think--there's something you disapprove! I'm a very good girl, and I work very hard, and I'm fond of my friends, and I expect them to be fond of me in return. I don't _like_ you to disapprove, Dan!"

"I can't help it, Darsie. I've hated that friendship from the beginning, and I hate it more with every month that pa.s.ses."

"Oh! _that_ old story." Darsie's voice took a tone of impatience; for it was annoying to find that Dan was harking back on the well-known subject of dispute. "Well, I'm sorry to distress you, but I am conceited enough to believe that I have taken no harm from my friendship with Ralph Percival, and that he has reaped some little good from mine.

While that state of thing continues, I shall certainly refuse to give him up--even to please you!"

There was silence for several moments, then Dan said slowly--

"If I agreed with your conclusions, I should not try to persuade you, Darsie; but I do not, and my opportunities of judging are better than yours."

"You are unfair, Dan. It is a pity to allow yourself to be so prejudiced that you can't give a fair judgment. I should have imagined that even you would be forced to admit that Ralph had done better this term."

Dan did not speak. He turned his head and looked Darsie full in the eyes, and there was in his look a puzzled, questioning air, which she found it difficult to understand. When he spoke again, it was not to reply in any direct way to her accusation, but to ask a question on his own account.

"Darsie, do you mind telling me--is your position entirely disinterested? Do you look upon the fellow merely as a man to be helped, or do you care for him for his own personal sake?"

Darsie deliberated. The firelight played on her downcast face, on the long white throat rising from the low collar of her white blouse, on the little hands clenched round the steel poker. Before her mind's eye arose the memory of handsome, melancholy eyes; imagination conjured back the sound of impa.s.sioned appeals. Her expression softened, her voice took a deeper note.

"He needs me, Dan!"

That was her answer. Dan nodded in silence, accepting it as sufficient.

He rose from his chair, and paced up and down the room, hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, head held back with the characteristic forward tilt of the chin. Darsie, watching him, thought involuntarily of a caged animal striving restlessly against the bars. Her heart gave a little throb of relief when he spoke again in his own natural voice.

"All right, Darsie. Good luck to your efforts! I appreciate your intentions, and am only sorry that I can't agree. According to my belief no one can help a man who refuses to help himself. We've got to fight our own battles, and to bear our own burdens! If some one steps forward and offers to undertake for us, we may imagine for a time that we are set free, but it's a mistake! Sooner or later the time comes when we're bound to fight it out alone, and it doesn't get easier for being deferred. Everything that is worth learning in life we have to worry out for ourselves!"

Darsie drew a long, trembling sigh. How puzzling life was, when the two people on whose judgment you most relied delivered themselves of directly opposing verdicts! Mrs Reeves believed that her help was all- important to Ralph's progress; Dan insisted that her efforts were in vain.

Was he right? Was he wrong? Could she honestly a.s.sure herself that Ralph was stronger, more self-reliant, more able to stand alone without the stimulus of constant support and encouragement? Instinctively Darsie's hand went up to touch the little golden brooch which fastened the lace collar of her blouse. If the anchor were withdrawn, would Ralph drift once more towards the rocks? The answer was difficult. She pondered it aloud, speaking in low, anxious tones, with lengthened pauses between the words.

"We're both right, Dan. We've both got hold of _bits_ of the truth! In the end we must win through for ourselves, but surely, in preparation for the battle, we can give each other _some_ help. Some natures seem made to stand, and others to lean. A prop is not of much account, but it may serve to keep a plant straight while it is gathering strength.

The big oaks need no props; they are so strong that they can't understand; they have no pity for weakness."

Dan stopped short in his pacings.

"That meant for me, Darsie?"

"Humph! Just as you please! Oaks are nice things--big, and strong, and restful, but just a little bit inclined to grow--_gnarled_!"

Dan vouchsafed no reply, and Darsie sat, hands clasped round knees, staring into the fire for five long, silent minutes. She was hoping that Dan would never grow "gnarled" towards herself, longing for him to speak and promise that he would not, but he still remained silent, and presently the door burst open, the rinking party appeared on the threshold, and the opportunity for quiet conclave was over.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

NEW YEAR'S EVE.

Seated alone in the train, _en route_ for her visit to the Percivals, Darsie had time to think in a more quiet and undisturbed fashion than had been possible in the past bustling days, and a disagreeable feeling of apprehension arose in her mind as she recalled the wording of the three invitations. In each was present the same note of depression, the same hint of trouble in connection with the son of the house. Could anything have happened of which she was unaware? No letter from The Manor had reached her for some weeks past, but letters were proverbially scarce at Christmas-time, so that it would be foolish to argue ill from that fact alone. Darsie braced herself physically and mentally, squared her shoulders, and resolutely dismissed gloomy thoughts.

Noreen and Ralph met her at the station, looking rea.s.suringly cheerful and at ease a magnificent new motor stood in waiting outside, with a cart for the luggage. Inside the beautiful old house the atmosphere was warmed by hot pipes, and scented with the fragrance of hothouse plants, banked together in every corner. It was not the usual case of being warm and cosy inside a room, and miserably chilled every time one crossed a pa.s.sage or ascended the stairs. Mrs Percival and the girls were marvels of elegance in Parisian gowns, Ralph looked his handsomest in knickerbocker suit and gaiters, and the servants moved noiselessly to and fro, performing their tasks with machine-like accuracy.

Extraordinary how complete a change of scene may take place between lunch and tea! How swiftly a new atmosphere makes the old unreal!

As Darsie sat drinking her tea in the old wainscoted hall, it seemed impossible to realise that such things as poverty and struggle were in existence; even the shabby bustle and squeeze of her own dear home became incredible in the face of this s.p.a.cious, well-ordered calm!

Mrs Percival made no attempt at private conversation, and showed no trace of "ulterior motive" in manner or conversation, which was a huge relief to Darsie's mind. She was not in a mood for serious conversation; what she wanted was the usual Percival offering of praise, admiration, and petting, and this was bestowed upon her with even more than the usual generosity. The grey-whiskered old Squire kissed her on both cheeks; the girls a.s.sured her that she was prettier than ever, and greeted her feeblest sallies with bursts of delighted laughter. Ralph gazed at her with adoring eyes; it was all, as Darsie had been wont to remark, most grateful and comforting!