A College Girl Part 34

"Cheer up, old dear! _You've done a lot better than you think_!

"Margaret."

"What's the matter now?" asked the second-year girl sharply, spying two big tears course slowly down her patient's cheeks, and Darsie returned a stammering reply--

"I've had such a ch-ch-cheering letter!"

"Have you indeed! The less of _that_ sort of cheering you get this week, the better for you!" snapped Marian once more. She was jealous of Margaret France, as she was jealous of every girl in the College for whom Darsie Garnett showed a preference, and she strongly resented any interference with her own prerogative. "Hurry into your dressing-gown, please, and I'll brush your hair," she said now in her most dictatorial tones. "I'm a pro. at brushing hair--a hair-dresser taught me how to do it. You hold the brush at the side to begin with, and work gradually round to the flat. I let a Fresher brush mine one right when I'd a headache, and she began in the middle of my cheek. There's been a coldness between us ever since. There! isn't that good? Gets right into the roots, doesn't it, and tingles them up! Nothing so soothing as a smooth, hard brush."

Darsie shut her eyes and purred like a sleek, lazy little cat.

"De-lic-ious! Lovely! You _do_ brush well! I could sit here for hours."

"You won't get a chance. Ten minutes at most, and then off you go, and not a peep at another book till to-morrow morning."

"Marian--_really_--I _must_! Just for ten minutes, to revive my memory."

"I'll tell you a story!" said Marian quietly--"a _true_ story from my own experience. It was when I was at school and going in for the Cambridge Senior, the last week, when we were having the exams. We had _slaved_ all the term, and were at the last gasp. The head girl was one Annie Macdiarmid, a marvel of a creature, the most all-round scholar I've ever met. She was invariably first in everything, and I usually came in a bad third. Well, we'd had an arithmetic exam, one day, pretty stiff, but not more so than usual, and on this particular morning at eleven o'clock we were waiting to hear the result. The Mathematic Master was a lamb--so keen, and humorous, and just--a _rageur_ at times, but that was only to be expected. He came into the room, papers in hand, his mouth screwed up, and his eyebrows nearly hidden under his hair. We knew at a glance that something awful had happened. He cleared his throat several times, and began to read aloud the arithmetic results. 'Total, a hundred. Bessie Smith, eighty-seven.' There was a rustle of surprise. Not Annie Macdiarmid? Just Bessie--an ordinary sort of creature, who wasn't going in for the Local at all. 'Mary Ross, eighty-two. Stella Bruce, seventy-four.' Where did _I_ come in? I'd never been lower than that. 'Kate Stevenson, sixty-four.' Some one else fifty, some one else forty, _and_ thirty _and_ twenty, and still not a mention of Annie Macdiarmid or of me. You should have _seen_ her face! I shall never forget it. _Green_! and she laced her fingers in and out, and chewed, and chewed. I was too stunned to feel. The world seemed to have come to an end. Down it came--sixteen, fourteen, ten-- and then at last--at bitter, long last--'Miss Marian White, _six_! Miss Macdiar-mid, Two!'"

Darsie stared beneath the brush, drawing a long breath of dismay.

"What _did_ you do?"

"Nothing! That was where he showed himself so wise. An ordinary master would have raged and stormed, insisted upon our working for extra hours, going over and over the old ground, but he knew better. He just banged all the books together, tucked them under his arm, and called out: 'No more work! Put on your hats and run off home as fast as you can go, and tell your mothers from me to take you to the Waxworks, or a Wild Beast show. Don't dare to show yourselves in school again until Monday morning. Read as many stories as you please, but open a school book at your peril!'"

Marian paused dramatically, Darsie peered at her through a mist of hair, and queried weakly, "Well?"

"Well--so we didn't! We just slacked and lazed, and amused ourselves till the Monday morning, and then, like giants refreshed, we went down to the fray and--"

"And what?"

"I've told you before! I got second-cla.s.s honours, and the Macdiarmid came out first in all England, distinction in a dozen subjects-- arithmetic among them. So now, Miss Garnett, kindly take the moral to heart, and let me hear no more nonsense about 'reviving memories.'

_Your_ memory needs putting to sleep, so that it may wake up refreshed and active after a good night's rest."

And Darsie weakly, reluctantly obeyed.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

FAREWELL TO NEWNHAM.

May week followed hard on the Tripos that year, but Darsie took no part in the festivities. The remembrance of the tragic event of last summer made her shrink from witnessing the same scenes, and in her physically exhausted condition she was thankful to stay quietly in college.

Moreover, a sad task lay before her in the packing up her belongings, preparatory to bidding adieu to the beloved little room which had been the scene of so many joys and sorrows during the last three years.

Vie Vernon, as a publicly engaged young lady, was paying a round of visits to her _fiance's_ relations, but Mr and Mrs Vernon had come up as usual, arranging to keep on their rooms, so that they might have the satisfaction of being in Cambridge when the Tripos List came out. With a son like Dan and a daughter like Hannah, satisfaction was a foregone conclusion; calm, level-headed creatures both of them, who were not to be flurried or excited by the knowledge of a critical moment, but most sanely and sensibly collected their full panoply of wits to turn them to good account.

Hannah considered it in the last degree futile to dread an exam. "What else," she would demand in forceful manner--"what else are you working for? For what other reason are you here?" But her arguments, though unanswerable, continued to be entirely unconvincing to Darsie and other nervously const.i.tuted students.

The same difference of temperament showed itself in the manner of waiting for results. Dan and Hannah, so to speak, wiped their pens after the writing of the last word of the last paper, and there and then resigned themselves to their fate. They had done their best; nothing more was possible in the way of addition or alteration--for good or ill the die was cast. Then why worry? Wait quietly, and take what came along!

Blessed faculty of common sense! A man who is born with such a temperament escapes half the strain of life, though it is to be doubted whether he can rise to the same height of joy as his more imaginative neighbour, who lies awake shivering at the thought of possible ills, and can no more "wait quietly" for a momentous decision than he could breathe with comfort in a burning house.

When the morning arrived on which the results of the Tripos were to be posted on the door of the Senate House, Darsie and Hannah had taken a last sad farewell of their beloved Newnham, and were ensconced with Mr and Mrs Vernon in their comfortable rooms. The lists were expected to appear early in the morning, and the confident parents had arranged a picnic "celebration" party for the afternoon.

Darsie never forgot that morning--the walk to the Senate House with Dan and Hannah on either side, the sight of the waiting crowd, the strained efforts at conversation, the dragging hours.

At long last a list appeared--the men's list only: for the women's a further wait would be necessary. But one glance at the paper showed Dan's name proudly ensconced where every one had expected it would be, and in a minute he was surrounded by an eager throng--congratulating, cheering, shaking him by the hand. He looked quiet as ever, but his eyes shone, and when Darsie held out her hand he gripped it with a violence which almost brought the tears to her eyes.

The crowd cleared away slowly, the women students retiring to refresh themselves with luncheon before beginning a second wait. The Vernons repaired to their rooms and feasted on the contents of the hamper prepared for the picnic, the father and mother abeam with pride and satisfaction, Dan obviously filled with content, and dear old Hannah full of quips. Darsie felt ashamed of herself because she alone failed to throw off anxiety; but her knees _would_ tremble, her throat _would_ parch, and her eyes _would_ turn back restlessly to study the clock.

"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 Cla.s.s! _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 Cla.s.s! 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- cla.s.s girls looked envious and subdued; first-cla.s.s 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 cla.s.s, 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 cla.s.s.

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 I 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 _roles_.

"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-cla.s.s 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.