Chapter Nineteen.
The Fancy Ball.
It was somewhat of a shock to the Fresher contingency to receive one morning the intimation of a Costume Ball, to be held in Clough Hall on the following night; but their protests met with scant sympathy from the elders. When Darsie plaintively declared that she hadn’t got a fancy dress, and would not have time to send home for it if she had, a third-year girl silenced her by a stern counter-question: “And where, pray, would be the fun if you had, and could? If at the cost of a postcard you could be fitted up as the Lady of the Lake in green draperies and water-lilies, it would no doubt be exceedingly becoming, but it would be no sport. No, young woman, you’ve got to contrive something out of nothing and an hour stolen from the night, and when you’ve done it you’ll be in the mood to appreciate other people’s contrivings into the bargain. Buck up! You’re one of the dressy sort. We’ll expect wonders from you.”
But when Darsie repaired to the seclusion of her study and set herself to the problem of evolving a fancy dress out of an ordinary college outfit, ideas were remarkably slow in coming. She looked questioningly at each piece of drapery in turns, wondered if she could be a ghost in curtains, a statue in sheets, an eastern houri in the cotton quilt, a Portia in the hearthrug, discarded each possibility in turn, and turned her attention to her own wardrobe.
Black serge, grey tweed, violet ninon; two evening frocks, and the one white satin which was the piece de resistance of the whole. A cloth coat, a mackintosh, an art serge cloak for evening wear—how could one manufacture a fancy dress from garments so ordinary as these?
In despair, Darsie betook herself to Margaret France’s room and found that young woman seated before her dressing-table engaged in staring fixedly at her own reflection in the mirror. She betrayed no embarrassment at being discovered in so compromising a position, but smiled a broad smile of welcome out of the mirror, the while she continued to turn and to twist, and hold up a hand-glass to scrutinise more closely unknown aspects of face and head.
“I know what you’ve come for! I’ve had two Freshers already. Bowled over at the thought of inventing a costume—that’s it, isn’t it? Oh, you’ll rise to it yet. The only difficulty is to hit on an idea—the rest’s as easy as pie. That’s what I’m doing now—studying my phiz to see what it suggests. My nose, now! What d’you think of my nose? Seems to me that nose wasn’t given me for nothing. And the width between the eyes! It’s borne in upon me that I must be either a turnip lantern or a Dutch doll. The doll would probably be the most becoming, so I’ll plump for that. Don’t breathe a word, for it must be a secret to the last. As for you—it would be easy to suggest a dozen pretty-pretties.”
Margaret wheeled round in her chair, and sat nursing her knees, regarding Darsie with a twinkling eye. “Big eyes, long neck, neat little feet—you’d make an adorable Alice in Wonderland, with ankle-strap slippers, and a comb, and a dear little pinny over a blue frock! And your friend can be the Mad Hatter. Look well, wouldn’t she, with a hat on one side? There are only the girls to see you, and the more comic you can make yourself the better they’ll be pleased. You are about to be introduced to a new side of Newnham life, and will see how mad the students can be when they let themselves go. You’ll laugh yourself ill before the evening’s over. Well, think it over, and come back to me if you want any properties. My dress will be easy enough—braided hair, short white frock (butter-muslin at a penny the yard), white stockings with sandals, another pair of stockings to cover my arms, chalked face and neck, with peaked eyebrows and neat little spots of red on the cheekbones and tip of the chin. If you feel inclined to be angelic, you might run up with your paint-box at the last minute, and dab on my joints.”
“Joints!”
Darsie gaped in bewilderment, whereupon Margaret cried resentfully—
“Well, I must have joints, mustn’t I? How do you expect me to move? A paint-box is invaluable on these occasions, as you’ll find before you are through. Now, my love, I’ll bid you a fond adieu, for work presses. By the by, one word in your ear! Don’t ask a third-year girl to dance with you if you value your nose!”
“What will happen to it if I do?”
“Snapped off! Never mind I look pretty and meek, and perhaps she’ll ask you. Now be off—be off—I must to work!”
Darsie descended to Hannah’s study and proposed the idea of the Mad Hatter, the which was instantly and scornfully declined. Hannah explained at length that though her head might be plain, it yet contained more brains than other heads she could mention, and that to play the part of idiot for a whole night long was a feat beyond the powers of a mathematical student reading for honours. She then explained with a dignity which seemed somewhat misplaced that she had set her heart upon representing a pillar-box, and was even now on the point of sallying forth to purchase a trio of hat-boxes, which, being of fashionable dimensions, would comfortably encircle her body. Fastened together so as to form a tube, covered with red sateen, and supported by scarlet-stockinged legs, the effect would be pleasingly true to life.
“I’ll have peep-holes for eyes, and the slit will outline my mouth. Between the dances I’ll kneel down in a corner so that the box touches the ground, and I’ll look so real, that I shall expect every one to drop in letters—chocolate letters, observe! You might buy some and set the example!”
For the next twenty-four hours an unusual air of excitement and bustle pervaded the college, and the conversation at mealtime consisted for the most part of fragmentary questions and answers bearing on the important subject of costumes in making.
“Lend me your boot brushes, like a lamb!”
“Got an old pair of brown stockings you can’t wear again?”
“Be an angel and lend me your striped curtains just for the night!”
“Spare just ten minutes to sew up my back?”
So on it went, and in truth it was a pleasant chance to hear the merry, inconsequent chatter; for, like every other class of the community, girl students have their besetting sins, and one of the most obvious of these is an air of assurance, of dogmatism, of final knowledge of life, against which there can be no appeal. Girls of nineteen and twenty will settle a dispute of ages with a casual word; students of economy will advance original schemes warranted to wipe the offence of poverty from the globe; science students with unlowered voices will indulge across the dinner-table in scathing criticisms on historic creeds which their fathers hold in reverence; and on each young face, on each young tongue, can be read the same story of certainty and self-esteem.
This state of mind is either sad, amusing, or exasperating, according to the mood of the hearer; but, whatever be his mood, he yet knows in his heart that it is a transitory phase, and an almost inevitable result of theoretical knowledge. A few years of personal grip with life and its problems will make short work of that over-confidence, and replace it with a gentler, sweeter touch.
But to-night was a night of frolic, and one would have to travel far indeed to find a more amusing spectacle than an impromptu costume dance in Clough Hall. Beauty is a secondary consideration, and the girl who has achieved the oddest and most ludicrous appearance is the heroine of the hour. Darsie Garnett made a fascinating Alice in Wonderland in her short blue frock, white pinny, and little ankle-strap slippers, her hair fastened back by an old-fashioned round comb, and eyebrows painted into an inquiring arch, but she received no attention in comparison with that lavished upon Hannah, when she dashed nimbly in at the door, and, kneeling down in a corner of the room, presented a really lifelike appearance of a pillar-box, a white label bearing the hours of “Chocolate deliveries” pasted conspicuously beneath the slit. Hannah’s prophecies proved correct, for it became one of the amusements of the evening to feed that yawning cavity with chocolates and other dainties, so that more than one sweet tooth in the assembly made a note of the suggestion for a future day.
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.