Margaret, preternaturally solemn, opined that ten would be a more desirable number. “Poor Mrs Reeves! What has she done? Why not ask some one to play about with her? I can’t bear to see a Lonely at a picnic or to be interrupted myself!”
“It might be judicious to invite Minerva!” agreed Darsie, twinkling, and alluding to the Don who enjoyed the privilege of Mrs Reeves’s special friendship. “Two chaperons! What a character for propriety I shall gain, to be sure! They little know.”
“They know perfectly well, but they are human creatures after all. They’ve been young themselves, and they enjoy the Orchard! Set to work at once, my dear, and get out your invitations. This weather can’t possibly last, and it’s going to break my heart if it is wet.”
But there was no sign of rain on that exquisite morning when at the striking of six o’clock Darsie leaped out of bed, and thrust her ruffled golden head out of the opened window. A few feathery white clouds served but to intensify the blueness of the sky; the air was soft and sweet, the garden beneath was already bathed in sunlight. Darsie gave a little caper of delight. Sunshine, a picnic, a pretty frock and hat waiting to be worn, and one’s very best friends to admire the result—what healthy girl of twenty could fail to be happy under such circumstances as these?
She sang as she dressed; she made little fancy steps, and three separate pirouettes which would have delighted the heart of a terpsichorean mistress. One pirouette greeted the effect of the white dress; the second, that of the wide straw hat, with its appropriate garland of blossom; the third was partly in celebration of the combined effect, and partly out of sheer inability to keep still.
Her toilette completed, Darsie repaired to Hannah’s room and surprised that tasteless young woman engaged in putting the final touches to her own costume, in the shape of an abomination designated “a neck arrangement,” composed of the cheapest of machine lace and papery satin ribbon. Hannah jumped with dismay as a hand descended suddenly over her shoulder, and tore this treasure from her grasp.
“No!” cried Darsie firmly. “You are my childhood’s friend, and I love you dearly, but wear lace frills with a linen collar at my Orchard party you—shall not! Miserable woman! Will you never learn how to dress?”
“I paid eleven-three for it, near the end of a term. Thought I would please you this time! Hate the tickling stuff myself. Some people are never satisfied,” grumbled Hannah, rummaging in her tie-box, but it never occurred to her to dispute the decree. On questions of toilette Darsie’s word was absolute.
The two girls descended the stairs together, and found the other three members of the party awaiting them at the door, Margaret and the little Fresher abeam with smiles, and even Minerva herself looking quite young and skittish. At moments like these it dawned upon the student mind that even a don herself could occasionally enjoy a mixture of play with her work.
At the river Mrs Reeves and the four men came forward to meet the Newnham party, the canaders were ranged ready for the embarkment, and Darsie felt the honours of her position press heavily, as the other members of the party stood silently waiting for her to apportion the crews. The worst of it was that one felt obliged to take the least desirable place oneself. Considered as a don, Minerva had many points, but when bound for a river picnic one did not exactly hanker after her society. Still, there it was. Every position has its drawbacks. The row up the river on that exquisite morning was a joy independent of society, and when the Orchard itself was reached it was undeniably agreeable to sit at the head of the table, and play the gracious hostess to one’s guests.