“Can’t say. Topping for us if it is. But the screen’s a wretch, and the walls will need a lot of covering. My few mites of pictures will go nowhere. There’s not too much room for our clothes, either. We’d better unpack, I suppose, and get out things for dinner. What are you going to wear?”
“Oh, something—whatever comes handy,” replied plain Hannah in her most casual manner.
The subject seemed to her of infinitesimal importance; but Darsie went through many agitations of mind before she decided on a high-necked summer frock, and then suffered still keener pangs because, on descending to Hall, several Freshers were discovered in full evening dress, and, in her imagination at least, eyed her lace yoke with disdain.
Dinner was almost as silent as tea—an ordeal of curious, appraising eyes, as each Fresher continued to stare at every other Fresher, condemning her mentally for want of frankness and kindliness, while utterly neglecting to practise these virtues on her own account. Then one by one the girls slunk upstairs, tired, shy, and homesick, and crept gratefully into their narrow beds.
Sleep was long in coming to Darsie Garnett that night: she lay awake hour after hour, living over again in thought the events of the last three years.
First and foremost her thoughts went back to the old great-aunt to whose generosity she owed the present fulfilment of her ambition. Until Lady Hayes’s death, a year ago, Darsie had spent the major part of her holidays at The Towers, and the friendship between the old woman and the girl had developed into a very real affection.
It had been a wonderful experience, Darsie reflected, to watch the gradual mellowing of character, the patient endurance of suffering, the peaceful death which was so truly a “falling asleep.” Until that time Darsie had felt all a girl’s natural shrinking from death, but the sight of Aunt Maria’s peaceful face had dissipated that fear once for all. As she knelt by the bedside looking at the still, majestic features, she offered the most fervent prayer of her life—a prayer that she, too, might be enabled to “submit her way,” and so in the end find peace in her soul!
Her acquaintance with the Percival family had ripened into friendship, so that, though Noreen and Ida could never by any chance supplant the Vernon sisters, there were moments when she actually felt more at home with Ralph than with queer, silent Dan.
Ralph, at twenty-one, had outgrown many of his boyish failings—or rather, as Darsie shrewdly surmised, had attained the art of screening them from view. Instead of snubbing his sisters’ friends and adopting airs of haughty superiority, he was now all deference and attention, transparently eager for her society. Dan, on the contrary, was absorbed in work; he had taken the Longs in summer, so that Darsie had no chance of meeting him before starting on her annual visits to Lady Hayes. In the Easter vac. he had visited France and Germany to study languages, while at Christmas-times he was at once too shy and too busy to take part in the daily excursions indulged in by his brothers and sisters. He was doing brilliantly at College, and as a better preparation for his life’s work had decided on a four-years course—taking the Tripos in two parts, in both of which it was a foregone conclusion that he would take a first-class.
Ralph Percival was contentedly slacking it in preparation for a pass degree. “What did it matter?” he demanded serenely. One came to Cambridge, don’t you know, because all one’s people had been there, because it was the thing to do, and a rattling old place for sport and having a good time. He would be confoundedly sorry when it was over. Only wished he could slack it out for twice as long!