But at last Martine had to yield to necessity, and less than a week before the day when the essays were to be handed in she sat down for one last, and it may be said first, great effort.
Lucian, happening in from Cambridge, laughed as he saw her forlorn face as she sat at a table littered with papers.
"What a ridiculous fuss," he cried, "about a little composition."
"It isn't a little composition; it's an essay."
"Well, what's the difference? You ought to have daily themes, then you'd know."
"We do, we have them once a week, every Monday morning."
"Daily themes,—once a week!" and again Lucian laughed.
"You needn't laugh, Lucian. Of course it's easy enough to write; that isn't the trouble; but it's getting things together."
"What things?"
"My ideas. Oh, if I were only Priscilla."