The Girls of St. Wode's Part 23

"Come on in front, please; I have something I specially wish to say to you on the subject of a life of absolute devotion. Those great truths which ought to agitate the souls of each man and woman worthy of the name have been specially borne in upon me during the last few hours. I have just been reading a pa.s.sage which I should be glad to repeat to you."

Marjorie went on a little unwillingly. Eileen stayed behind. Lettie looked at Leslie, and her eyes filled with laughter.

"There's a slap in the face," she said; "and to you, too, Miss Gilroy.

Did I not tell you she was an oddity."

"Now, Lettie," said Eileen, in an imploring voice, "don't laugh at poor Belle; don't prejudice Miss Gilroy against her. If everybody else was quite as earnest and sincere, what a different world it would be!"

"What an appalling world it would be!" exclaimed Lettie; "it would not be endurable."

They reached the boats. Eileen and Marjorie, who both rowed well, took the oars. Lettie sat in the stern and held the rudder ropes. Leslie and Belle thus found themselves facing each other. Lettie instantly guided their little craft into midstream.

"Yes," began Belle, "I have submitted for one hour, under protest."

As she spoke she looked full at Leslie.

"I don't quite understand you," said Leslie in some astonishment.

"I dare say you don't, but my time is all marked out-I keep a time-table, and adhere to it rigidly. If you have not yet commenced such a valuable help to the spending of your time, let me recommend you to do so without delay. Now that I look at you more closely, I observe in your eyes a really serious light. Believe me, I am never mistaken in my judgment of anyone. Long, long ago I saw that those two dear girls behind us, who are using their muscular strength in propelling us downstream, had real intelligence, that fine brains filled their craniums. I regret to say that Miss Lettie Chetwynd, the young person who is steering us, is of different metal. I do not say that she has not her use in the world; but with her and hers I have nothing to do. Now you-what did you say your name was?"

"Leslie Gilroy."

"You, Leslie Gilroy (what a very booky name!), have a meditative face; there is thought expressed in the firm curves of your lips. You may go far, you may fail; but, on the other hand, to you may be given a great success. Think what an awful responsibility is placed in your hands. You may use life in its fullness, or you may fritter your gifts and be a drone. May I ask you which life you mean to choose-the full or the empty?"

"I shall certainly aim for the full life," replied Leslie in some astonishment. "Whether I succeed or not remains to be proved."

"Your success depends on yourself-the single eye, remember, the untarnished soul--"

Belle's words were interrupted by a burst of laughter from Lettie.

"I beg your pardon," she said; "but really, Belle Acheson, you are too absurd for anything."

Belle closed her eyes and slightly turned her back upon Lettie. She made no other reply of any sort.

"I know you mean kindly, Miss Acheson," said Leslie, who could never bear to distress anyone; "but how can you know, as you have never seen me before, whether mine is an earnest character or not?"

"Ah, you little guess my capacity," said Belle in a patronizing voice.

"It is my habit to pa.s.s each girl, when I see her first, in mental review. Most, I must tell you frankly, require the merest glance to tell me what failures they are certain to be. By a flash of my eyes I can discern how petty and small are the qualities of their souls; but you, Miss Gilroy, have a well-developed soul. Up to the present you have never let it die. Think how awful it is to carry within your breast a dead soul!"

"Yes; it would be very bad," said Leslie.

"Bad? Awful is the word to use. Strong language is required for such a terrible possession; but it is a fact that many people do. I may almost say that most do. A dead soul. Let us ponder the words; let the thought sink deep. You observe the fact of its existence in the dull and frivolous expression which looks out of so many eyes, in the poor aims which animate so many people, in the ign.o.ble lives they lead. Ah! how great might man be if he could only soar!"

Here Belle raised her eyes to the sky.

"What a mercy she is not steering," thought Leslie to herself. "We should all be in that bindweed at the other side of the river by now."

"Belle, dear," said Eileen, pushing out her foot and giving her friend a kick, "do, please, come down from the clouds. We were so anxious to introduce you to Miss Gilroy, and I am afraid you are frightening her.

Don't be quite so-so outre during your first interview."

"Do I frighten you?" said Belle. "Am I outre?"

She almost glared into Leslie's face.

"Miss Gilroy, whatever happens, I cannot but be myself." As she spoke she started forward, and laid one of her very thin large angular hands on Leslie's arm. The hand clutched the slight round arm so firmly that it was with difficulty poor Leslie could suppress a scream.

"Yes," continued Belle; "I can stand things as they are no longer. Even my own familiar friends turn from me. Do you think I want to deceive you? Do you think for one single instant I want you to suppose that I am other than what I am-a girl, nay, a woman, whose aim in life is to dig deep into the vast mines of the mighty past, those great mines which have been left to us by the dead and gone. I want to acquire-why, do you suppose? In order to help my fellow-creatures, in order to impress upon them the greatness of eternity and the frivolity of time, in order, when I really pa.s.s away, that I may leave footprints behind me on the sands of time."

"Hear, hear!" said Marjorie.

"Let us quote from Longfellow now; it would be most appropriate," said Lettie from the stern.

"Marjorie," said Belle, "I am sorry that you have interrupted me with that very silly remark. As to the young person in the stern, I refuse to acknowledge her existence; but you, Marjorie, are laughing at me."

"Indeed, I am not," said Marjorie.

"Nor do I laugh at you," said Leslie. "I am sure you mean very well, indeed, and in some ways I agree with you. I also want to lead the earnest life."

"Do you? Is that a fact? Tell me how you furnish your room?"

"But I cannot imagine what that has to do with it," said Leslie.

"A vast deal, for it shows the real inclination of the soul. Is the soul going to steep itself in luxury, or is it going to cast away all hindrances, and run its race in fullness, in power? Is it to be clogged and hindered? Speak; don't keep me in suspense. How have you furnished your room?"

"My half-room-I only possess half a room-was furnished for me by the governors of the college," said Leslie. "It is true that I have added a few things, for I like pretty rooms. I like to look nice myself. My mother has always taught me to pay a great deal of attention to personal appearance."

Belle heaved a deep sigh, and became instantly silent.

"Have you nothing more to say, Belle?" cried Marjorie.

"Nothing," replied Belle. Her eyes were now shut. "I am disappointed."

She sat back in her seat, and did not trouble herself to glance at Leslie for some time.

"What a blessing for you," whispered Lettie, bending forward from her place in the stern.

"But I am really sorry for her," was Leslie's gentle response. "She is full of earnestness; but she goes too far."

"For goodness' sake, don't let her hear you. Her eyes are closed for the present, and she is only muttering to herself. What a comfort if she remains in that state for the rest of our row!"

"Belle," said Marjorie, "what are you doing now? You are saying something; what is it?"

"When my nerves are ruffled, I always find that recitation is the greatest help to me," said Belle. "I am reciting at the present moment a poem from one of our great writers. The frivolous fact that I am out on the water, being rowed by you and Eileen, that I am wasting some of the precious hours of a golden day, must be counteracted as far as possible.

But stay; would you two girls," here she glanced at Marjorie and Eileen, purposely avoiding both Leslie and Lettie, "would you two like me to recite aloud the poem in question?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, no!" cried Lettie; "that would be quite the last straw."

"I don't think," said Belle glancing in Lettie's direction, "that the remark of the young person who holds the tiller-ropes ought to be considered. What do you two say?"

"Of course Eileen and I would like it very much," said Marjorie; "but Leslie is our guest, and we must consult her."