A COCOA PARTY.
Nearly one hundred girls were in the great dining hall. They were all
seated at the different tables when Annie Colchester and Leslie Gilroy
appeared. Annie went straight up to her own table, bowed somewhat
awkwardly to Miss Frere the tutor, who was at the head, and then, seeing
that the teacher’s eyes were fixed on Leslie, said in an abrupt voice:
“This is my roomfellow, Miss Leslie Gilroy, Miss Frere.”
“How do you do, Miss Gilroy?” said Miss Frere in a pleasant voice. “I
think you will find a seat next to Miss Colchester. Move down a little,
please, Jane,” she continued, turning to another girl with a rosy face
and dark eyes. “Yes, there is plenty of room now. I will have a talk
with you after dinner, if you like, Miss Gilroy.”
“Thank you, I shall be very glad,” replied Leslie. Her bright eyes and
lovely face, her whole manner and pleasant expression, made many of the
girls turn and glance at her; but nobody stared in at all an unpleasant
manner.
The girl called Jane began to talk to Leslie, and told her some of the
rules of the place. Leslie was glad to learn what she could; but her
eyes anxiously glanced from table to table in the hope of once more
seeing her two companions of the cab. Presently she observed Marjorie
and Eileen seated at a table at the other end of the room. They were
together, looking already quite at home and perfectly contented. They
talked to one another; when they caught Leslie’s eyes they nodded to her
in a pleasant, hail-fellow-well-met manner.
“Who are those two girls?” said Jane Heriot suddenly. “They are freshers
like yourself, are they not?”
“I do not know much about them,” replied Leslie. “Yes; they have just
come to St. Wode’s—their names are Marjorie and Eileen Chetwynd. They
were kind enough to share a cab with me coming from the station, and
seem to be very nice girls indeed.”
“I like their faces,” said Miss Heriot; “but what a funny way they do
their hair. I don’t care for that short hair; do you?”
“Not personally,” replied Leslie; “but they seem nice girls and have
handsome faces.”
“Yes, I am sure they are charming, and also out of the common. I only
trust they won’t join the oddities. We have a few oddities here, of
course. I am so glad you are not going to be one.”
As Jane spoke she glanced toward Annie Colchester, who looked back at
her and nodded.
“I overheard you, Jane,” she said; “and you are perfectly welcome to
speak of me as the oddity of all oddities. Miss Leslie Gilroy has found
out that fact for herself already; have you not, Miss Gilroy?”
“I have found you quite willing to put up with the discomfort of having
me in your room,” answered Leslie, coloring as she spoke.
“You are sure to have a room to yourself after this term,” said Jane
Heriot. “This is always our most crowded term; but if Annie takes
honors, which she is very likely to do, she will be leaving St. Wode’s,
and then the governors will give you another room.”
The dinner proceeded. Leslie asked a few more questions of Jane, who
always replied in a pleasant, intelligent manner; and, when the meal had
come to an end, she asked Leslie if she would like to come with her to
her own room.
“This is our debate evening,” she said. “I will bring you down to the
hall presently, and introduce you to several of the girls; but now do
come down to my room and have a chat. We don’t debate before half-past
eight. I am sure we shall be friends.”
“But Miss Frere said something about wishing to see me after dinner,”
said Leslie. “She is one of the tutors, is she not?”
“Oh, yes, such a darling; the dearest, sweetest woman on earth. But
surely you don’t want to talk over books to-night?”
“Yes, I do. I should like to settle down to my work as quickly as
possible.”
“Well, of course you can speak to Miss Frere; but I don’t think she can
give you much of her time, for she is to open the debate. She is our
classical tutor. Are you classical, Miss Gilroy?”
“No: I came here to study literature,” replied Leslie.
“In that case you won’t have anything to do with Miss Frere. Miss Maple
is the tutor who will look after you and arrange your lectures. I will
just speak to Miss Frere. Oh, come with me if you like; we can both
speak to her.”
Jane Heriot slipped her hand through Leslie’s arm, drew her up the room
to where Miss Frere was talking to a number of students, and then
touched the tutor on the arm.
“Ah, my dear,” said Miss Frere, turning to Leslie, “you would like to
have a little talk with me?”
“But, please, Miss Frere,” interrupted Jane, “Miss Gilroy has just told
me that she is going to study literature.”
“In that case I am not the tutor who will have to look after you,”
replied Miss Frere. “Shall I introduce you to Miss Maple now, or will
you wait until the morning?”
“Do wait until the morning,” said Jane. “I am dying to show you my room;
and afterwards you must come to hall. You won’t, of course, take part in
the debate to-night, but you can look on and find out how far you are
likely to enjoy yourself amongst us.”
“With so many temptations, I think I will wait to be introduced to Miss
Maple until to-morrow,” said Leslie.
“I think you are acting wisely,” said Miss Frere; “and remember, if you
want anything at any time, I shall be very glad to help you. I will
speak to Miss Maple about you, and she will see you after prayers
to-morrow.”
Leslie and Jane Heriot left the dining hall together. Annie Colchester
had long since departed.
“Ought I not to go to her?” said Leslie; “she may think it rude.”
“Rude?” cried Jane with a laugh. “Annie think it rude to be left alone?
She is hard at work at her studies already. Let me tell you, you will be
in luck if you get into that room at all to-night, for one of her
unpleasant habits is to lock the door, then she goes to bed without
thinking anything more about it. Alice Hall, her last roomfellow, was
once kept out of the room all night in consequence of Annie’s behavior.
Poor Alice had to share my sofa-bed, and, I assure you, it was a tight
fit.”
“In that case would it not be wise for me to run up immediately and
remove the key?”
Jane Heriot laughed again.
“Excellent,” she said; “and Annie will never miss it. She is the most
eccentric creature I ever met. Her brown-studies are too wonderful. We
all laugh at her, but we all like her, for she really is a good old
thing, although such an oddity. Well, I’ll come with you, for my room is
in the same corridor. Let us go at once. There are two or three friends
who are certain to come and see me to-night, and I should like to
introduce you to them.”
Just as the two girls were about to ascend the stairs they met Eileen
and Marjorie, who, arm in arm, were looking at the regulation board. As
soon as they saw Leslie they turned to speak to her.
“I hope you are comfortable, Miss Gilroy?” said Marjorie. “We are—very.”
“Please introduce me, Miss Gilroy,” said Jane Heriot, touching Leslie on
her sleeve.
Leslie did what was required.
“You don’t know anybody here yet, do you?” asked Jane, turning to
Eileen.
“No,” replied Eileen; “one or two girls spoke to us at dinner, but——”
“In that case you had better come and join my party,” said Jane. “The
girls will call on you to-morrow evening, so you must be at home; but
they will not do so to-night, as it is the first night of term. Do come,
both of you. Miss Gilroy is coming, and we shall make quite a cozy
party.”
Eileen and Marjorie said they would be delighted to comply, and the
girls went upstairs side by side. Leslie went to her own room, secured
the key, slipped it into her pocket, and joined the rest on the
threshold of Jane’s room.
Jane Heriot happened to have one of the prettiest and most tastefully
arranged rooms in North Hall. It was a corner room, and had queer little
nooks and crannies in all sorts of unexpected places. It was papered
with a very artistic paper, and had a deep dado, which Jane herself had
painted, with a running pattern of wild flowers and birds. Some good
photogravures of pictures by Burne-Jones and Watts hung upon the walls,
the curtains were of Liberty silk, the floor was covered with a
self-colored drugget, the bed was turned into a tastefully arranged
sofa and the chest of drawers was rendered unique and graceful by a
piano cloth concealing its back. The screen which hid the washing
apparatus was a Liberty one, and very pretty. A bright little fire
burned in the grate, which was agreeable, as the evening was somewhat
chilly. One of the windows stood slightly open, and the room was full of
fresh air without draught.
“We must all go down to debate within an hour,” said Jane; “and then I
hope you will return to my room, girls, for cocoa. I am giving a cocoa
party to-night, you know.”
“How delightful!” said Leslie. “How pleasant everything seems to be!”
“When did you say the debate would begin?” asked Eileen.
“Within an hour.”
“Then you have time first to tell us something of your college life.”
“I can do so if you like. We have a great deal of liberty here; and,
provided we don’t break the rules, we are not likely to get into hot
water. The studious girls work as a rule in the morning, play games in
the afternoon, and work again after dinner, until whatever hour they
wish to go to bed. We are all expected to be in bed soon after midnight,
and no one is allowed to be outside the gates after half-past ten,
unless special leave is given. By the way, do you know any people in
Wingfield, Miss Gilroy?”
“I have an introduction to one of the Dons, Mr. Matcheson,” said Leslie;
“but I don’t know him yet.”
“Oh, you are in great luck if you get into the Matcheson set,” said Jane
with a slight look of envy flitting across her face. “They are some of
the nicest people in Wingfield, and they have such delightful Sunday
evenings; they are sure to invite you to them. Do you know any people,
Miss Chetwynd?”
“Not a soul,” said Marjorie, sinking down upon a corner of Jane’s sofa,
“and I am not likely to,” she added; “for when once we take up our work
in earnest we shall have no time for social frivolities.”
“Social frivolities!” repeated Jane; “but half the good of the place is
its social life. You won’t get the benefit you ought to derive from a
residence at St. Wode’s unless you take up the social as well as the
learned side of the life.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Marjorie, knitting her pretty brows.
“I must try and explain. I see by Miss Gilroy’s face that she does.”
Leslie nodded and smiled.
“One of the many benefits of coming to college is to strengthen the
social side of one’s character,” said Jane. “When Miss Frere or Miss
Maple ask you to tea, they will discourse much on that point. A college
girl ought to have wider sympathies, and to be less selfish all round,
than a girl who knows only the ordinary home life. Oh, I have not a word
to say against home girls, but certainly college life does strengthen
one. Now, here we have heaps of opportunities; we know so many girls, we
enter into their lives, we have a delightful feeling of comradeship. The
wide outside world, which we get a glimpse of from our own dear little
paradise, is most strengthening to our characters. You ask some of the
older girls here what they think of St. Wode’s. They will tell you that
it is a paradise, an oasis. We are all happy; devoid of care. And the
hockey and tennis clubs, and the boating club—they are all so charming
that we cannot but have a gay time. There are twenty boats belonging to
St. Wode’s College; and on the long summer afternoons we go up the river
a good distance, and very often do our work under the trees; so you can
imagine how jolly everything is. But of course there are certain rules.
No girl can belong to the boating club, for instance, unless she can
swim in fifty feet of water.”
“I can stand that test,” said Marjorie eagerly, “and I should rather
like to be in a boat. Eileen and I have rowed a good deal on the sea
since we were quite children.”
“Can you swim, Miss Gilroy?” asked Jane.
“I am afraid I cannot,” replied Leslie; “but I don’t think I am much of
a coward, and can soon learn,” she added. “You see I have spent all my
life in London, and have not had a chance of learning.”
“Oh, if you are a London girl you ought to have courage for anything!
Then, besides the boating club, we have our bicycle clubs, and our
debating society, and our dramatic society. Oh, yes, it is a very full
life, and those derive most benefit from the college who enter into it
in its divers branches as much as possible.”
“All that social frivolity will not suit me,” said Marjorie, breaking
the silence that followed Jane’s rapid flow of words.
“Why so?”
“Because my sister and I—I am sure I can speak for her as well as
myself—have come here for a definite purpose. If we had stayed at home
we should have gone in for all those other things. We know a very
earnest student who belongs to this college, and she has given us quite
different particulars with regard to the life. She did not speak of it
as you have done, Miss Heriot.”
“May I know the name of that girl?” asked Jane.
“Certainly you may; she is a great friend of ours. I believe her room is
in West Hall; her name is Belle Acheson.”
A queer, convulsed sort of look passed over Jane’s face for a quarter of
a second, then vanished. She looked solemnly at Eileen.
“Are you a great friend of Miss Acheson’s?” she asked.
“Certainly. We have known her since we were children. But why do you
inquire?”
“I am sorry—that is all,” said Jane.
“Sorry? What can you mean? Do you know her?”
“We all know her more or less. I have nothing to say against her
personally except that she does not take the best the college affords. I
hope you will not—— But forgive me. I am a stranger to you; I ought not
to interfere.”
“It would certainly be better for you to say nothing more,” said
Marjorie in her gentle voice. “Belle is a friend of ours. Yes,” she
continued, “we have come here to learn, and we don’t wish to be
narrow-minded; but we are quite determined that we will not waste our
time nor our money in dress or ornaments.”
Here she glanced disapprovingly round the exquisitely furnished little
room.
“We mean to work hard; we shall have no time for amusement.”
Jane muttered something under her breath; then she said cheerfully:
“I am not the one to lecture you. Come, what shall I show you? It will
soon be time to go down to hall to the debate. Now, how can I amuse
you?”
“We don’t want amusing,” said Eileen; “that’s just the very point we
wish you to clearly understand. If you can tell us anything about the
poor in Wingfield, or what philanthropic societies are started, or if
there are classes for the teaching of cookery and domestic economy, we
shall be greatly obliged to you.”
“But why did you come here?” said Jane, opening her eyes wide. “This is
a place for the acquiring of academic learning, not for——”
“It is the place where Belle Acheson is acquiring her profound knowledge
of life,” said Marjorie in a slow voice.
Jane looked at her with a puzzled expression.
Just then there came a tap at the door, and two girls named Alice and
Florrie Smart, put in an appearance. They were fashionably dressed, and
rushed up to Jane and kissed her.
“Dear old Janie, how are you?” said Alice.
“Oh, we have had such a jolly time,” interrupted Florrie. “We were out
with the Davidsons all the afternoon, and thought we should be late. We
wouldn’t miss the debate to-night for a thousand worlds. Freshers? Do I
see freshers here? Pray introduce me, Janie.”
Jane performed her duties in a somewhat perfunctory manner. She was
puzzled by Eileen and Marjorie, could not understand them, and was
scarcely prepared to like them; but Leslie had already stolen into her
heart.