Chapter Twenty Two.
Christmas Day.
It was Christmas Day; fifteen eventful months had passed by since Darsie Garnett and Hannah Vernon had made their appearance in Clough in the character of modest and diffident Freshers. Now, advanced to the dignity of second-year girls, they patronised new-comers with the best, and talked, thought, and behaved as though, deprived of their valuable support, the historical centre of Cambridge must swiftly crumble to the dust.
The little air of assurance and self-esteem which seems inseparable from a feminine student had laid its hand on Darsie’s beauty, robbing it of the old shy grace, and on each fresh return to the old home Clemence and Lavender eloquently described themselves as “squelched flat” by the dignified young woman who sailed about with her head in the air, and delivered an ultimatum on every subject as it arose, with an air of “My opinion is final. Let no dog bark!”
These mannerisms, however, were only, after all, a veneer; and when two or three days of merry, rollicking family life had passed by, the old Darsie made her appearance once more, forgot to be learned and superior, forbore to refer to college and college ways in every second or third sentence, and showed a reviving interest in family affairs.
Clemence was fatter than ever, a subject of intense mortification to herself, though at each fresh meeting she confided in whispered asides that she had “lost five pounds—ten pounds,” as the case might be. No one believed in these diminutions, but if one happened to be amiably disposed, one murmured vaguely, and affected conviction; and if one were not, one openly jeered and scoffed! Lavender was sentimental and wrote poetry in which “pale roses died, in the garden wide, and the wind blew drear, o’er the stricken mere.” She had advanced to the dignity of long skirts, and dressed her hair—badly!—in the latest eccentricity of fashion.
Vie Vernon, on the contrary, had developed into a most elegant person, quite an accomplished woman of the world, darkly suspected of “going to be engaged” to a young lawyer with a dark moustache, who had lately developed a suspicious fondness for her father’s company.
It really gave one quite a shock to realise how grown-up the old companions had become even the brothers Harry and Russell were transformed into tall striplings who bought newspapers on their own account, and preferred, actually preferred, to be clean rather than dirty! It was a positive relief to listen to Tim’s loud voice, look at his grimy paws, and reflect that one member of the family was still in the enjoyment of youth.
As usual, the postman’s arrival was the first excitement of Christmas morning. He brought with him an armful of letters and parcels, and Darsie was quick to spy Ralph Percival’s handwriting upon one of the smallest and most attractive-looking of the packets.
The colour came into her cheeks as she looked, but after holding the parcel uncertainly for a moment, she laid it down again, and proceeded to open other letters and boxes, leaving this particular one to the last. An onlooker would have been puzzled to decide whether it was more dread or expectation which prompted this decision; and perhaps Darsie herself could hardly have answered the question. The table was soon spread with envelopes and wrappings of paper which had enclosed souvenirs from college friends, and the more costly offerings from Mrs Percival and her girls, inscribed with the orthodox words of greeting. Darsie ranged them in order, and then, still hesitating, turned to the last packet of all.