Chapter Twenty Seven.
Disaster.
Cambridge May week is a function so well known, and so often described, that it would be superfluous to enter in detail into its various happenings. In their first year Darsie and Hannah had taken little part in the festivities, but upon their second anniversary they looked forward to a welcome spell of gaiety. Not only were the Percivals coming up for the whole week, but Mr and Mrs Vernon and Vie were also to be installed in rooms, and the Newnham students had received permission to attend the two principal balls, being housed for the nights by their own party. Throughout Newnham the subject of frocks became, indeed, generally intermingled with the day’s work. Cardboard boxes arrived from home, cloaks and scarves were unearthed from the recesses of “coffins,” and placed to air before opened windows; “burries” were strewn with ribbons, laces, and scraps of tinsel, instead of the usual notebooks; third-year girls, reviving slowly from the strain of the Tripos, consented languidly to have their hats re-trimmed by second-year admirers, and so, despite themselves, were drawn into the maelstrom. One enterprising Fresher offered items of her wardrobe on hire, by the hour, day, or week, and reaped thereby quite a goodly sum towards her summer holiday. A blue-silk parasol, in particular, was in universal request, and appeared with éclat and in different hands at every outdoor function of the week.
In after-years Darsie Garnett looked back upon the day of that year on which the Masonic Ball was held with feelings of tender recollection, as a piece of her girlhood which was altogether bright and unclouded. She met the Percival party at one o’clock, and went with them to lunch in Ralph’s rooms, where two other men had been invited to make the party complete. There was hardly room to stir in the overcrowded little study, but the crush seemed but to add to the general hilarity.
Ralph made the gayest and most genial of hosts, and the luncheon provided for his guests was a typical specimen of the daring hospitality of his kind! Iced soup, lobster mayonnaise, salmon and green peas, veal cutlets and mushrooms, trifle, strawberries and cream, and strong coffee, were pressed in turns upon the guests, who—be it acknowledged at once—ate, drank, enjoyed, and went forth in peace. Later in the afternoon the little party strolled down to the river, and in the evening there was fresh feasting, leading up to the culminating excitement of all—the ball itself.
Beside the Percivals’ Parisian creations, Darsie’s simple dress made but a poor show, but then Darsie’s dresses were wont to take a secondary place, and to appear but as a background to her fresh young beauty, instead of—as is too often the case—a dress par excellence, with a girl tightly laced inside. When she made her appearance in the sitting-room of the lodgings, the verdict on her appearance was universally approving—
“You look a lamb!” gushed Ida enthusiastically.
“How do you manage it, dear? You always seem to hit the right thing!” exclaimed Mrs Percival in plaintive amaze; and as he helped her on with her cloak, Ralph murmured significantly—
“As if it mattered what you wore! No one will notice the frock.”
At the ball there was an appalling plethora of girls; wallflowers sat waiting round the walls, and waited in vain. Darsie felt sorry for them, tragically sorry; but the sight of their fixed smiles could not but heighten the sense of her own good luck in having the chance of more partners than she could accept. Ralph showed at his best that evening, evincing as much care for his sisters’ enjoyment as for that of their friend. Not until the three programmes were filled to the last extra did he rest from his efforts, and think of his own pleasure. It is true that his pleasure consisted chiefly in dancing with Darsie, and their steps went so well together that she was ready to give him the numbers for which he asked. As for Dan Vernon, he did not dance, but out of some mistaken sense of duty, felt it his duty to put in an appearance and glower.