A COCOA PARTY—CONTINUED.
“Are the graces forgotten by the modern woman?” was the subject of the
debate that evening. The opener’s speech was made by Miss Frere, who
boldly threw down the gauntlet, reminded the girls assembled before her
of some of the perils which lay across their paths, and assured them
that the old graces of politeness, of gentleness, of loving service, of
all that made woman noble and graceful ought to be part of the new life
which was opening its doors wider and wider each day for the happy
modern girl.
“If in grasping the new we let go of the old, we make a vast mistake,”
she continued, her eyes flashing with suppressed fire. “We leave out
what has made woman noble and great in the past. We shut away
deliberately a vast influence which would otherwise help to pervade the
world, for a woman can be graceful, pleasant to look at, agreeable, and
not silly. She may be sympathetic without being sentimental. She may be,
in the best sense, womanly without sinking into a nonentity.”
Miss Frere’s words were full of feeling, and Leslie listened to her with
an ever-growing admiration. In such tones, with almost similar words,
had her own mother often spoken to her. From that moment she believed in
Miss Frere, and determined to do her utmost to secure the friendship of
one who looked so noble and spoke so well.
Marjorie and Eileen, however, fidgeted, rumpled up their short locks,
and glanced impatiently one at the other.
The opener’s speech lasted about twenty minutes; then came the speech
from the opposition. Marjorie could not help starting as she heard Belle
Acheson’s well-known voice. Her words were forcible and full of power,
put together with much grammatical fluency, and absolutely to the point.
She did her utmost to crush Miss Frere, declaring that if woman, the
modern woman, who had such a vast work before her, was to spend her life
devoting herself to the pleasures of the toilet, to society, to mere
ornamentation, to the thought of what others would think of her, she
would be frittering away her birthright, and would be a despicable
creature.
“There are no two sides,” cried Belle. “Woman has got to choose. If she
means to take up her whole mission, she must drop that which has
hindered her in the past; she must cast away her crutch and stand
alone.”
“Hear! hear!” burst from some of the students whose ideas coincided with
Belle’s.
“For shame!” muttered others.
“Yes,” continued Belle, raising her short-sighted eyes and glancing down
the hall to right and left of her. “I repeat once again that there are
no two sides. I disagree with Miss Frere in toto. Away with shams! Away
with shams!”
As Belle said the last words she brought down her hand upon the table
with a great clap which caused the glass and bottle of water standing
upon it to rattle ominously.
There was a stamping of feet when she sat down. Marjorie and Eileen
looked no longer displeased; their eyes were bright and their cheeks
flushed.
“Dear old Belle,” whispered one of the girls to the other; “it is quite
refreshing to hear her and to see her again.”
“How true to her colours she is,” said Eileen. “I respect her more than
words can say.”
After the speeches from the opener and the opposition, the debate
proceeded with enthusiasm. Girls argued for Miss Frere and against Miss
Frere; but finally, when the summing-up was over, Miss Frere was able to
declare that she had a small victory on her side. She then thanked the
girls for their polite attention, hoped that those who differed from her
would by and by see matters in another light, and broke up the debate.
It was now past ten o’clock; and Jane, turning to Leslie, reminded her
that she had promised to join the cocoa party in her room.
“And I shall be delighted if your friends will come too,” she said. “Oh,
I see they have joined Belle Acheson; I cannot help being sorry for
them.”
“Is that girl Belle Acheson?” cried Leslie in some astonishment. “I only
met the Chetwynds to-day, and they were speaking of her.”
“Belle is a perfect horror,” said Jane. “She leads the extreme party in
the college; but I do not think anyone really likes her. Now, do come to
my room.”
Four other girls were already assembled in Miss Heriot’s room. They had
provided themselves with seats, and were lounging about in a very
free-and-easy manner. Jane proceeded to make cocoa, chatting as she did
so. All the talk was intelligent and bright. The girls drew Leslie into
their midst, holding out affectionate hands of comradeship. They asked
her eagerly about her former life, and what she had done in the way of
study. When they heard that she had passed her London Matriculation,
they congratulated her, and said that she would be sure to do well at
St. Wode’s.
“And you will be popular too,” said Florrie Smart. “I can see that at a
glance. Oh, I don’t mean to flatter; but you are not the sort who will
go over to the Belle Acheson side.”
“I don’t think I shall,” replied Leslie gently. “I did not approve of
what she said. My mother agrees entirely with Miss Frere.”
“And therefore you agree with Miss Frere; is not that so?” said Alice
Smart.
“I love my mother more than words can say,” replied Leslie. The tears
started to her eyes as she spoke. Florrie Smart held out her hand and
gave Leslie an affectionate pressure on her arm.
“I quite understand,” she said. “Alice and I also have a mother—such a
darling.”
“But I do wish you had a room to yourself, you poor old thing,” said
Alice Smart. “Miss Colchester is a well-meaning creature; but to live
with her—oh, it would be a real trial!”
“And I wonder what Miss Gilroy will do when the other girls call on
her,” said Jane. “Annie will be so cross; she won’t make herself the
least bit agreeable. She is learning-mad; that is the only word I can
say for her.”
“I must make the best of it, however matters turn out,” said Leslie. “I
am only sorry that Miss Colchester is not a little more tidy; but I dare
say I shall get on with her very well.”
“And you know you can make your own part of the room as pretty as you
please,” said Florrie, speaking again. “You ought to go to Hunt’s, in
the Broad, to-morrow; he is the decorator of all our rooms. Some of us
spend a good deal over our rooms; others again are more economical. But
Hunt will do the thing in any way you wish, and he won’t send in the
account until the end of term. That latter fact is of importance to some
of us, I can tell you.”
As Florrie said the last words she rose.
“I am too sleepy to stay up another moment,” she said, “fascinating as
your cocoa-parties always are, Janie; but I was out so long this
afternoon that I am half-dead with sleep.”
“And I, too, am very sleepy,” said Alice, rising. “Janie, that cocoa was
excellent. Ta-ta; sleep well.”
The girls nodded to Leslie, then to Jane Heriot, and the next moment
Leslie was also bidding Miss Heriot good-night. She ran down the
corridor to her own room. As she approached the door, a furious sound of
someone pacing up and down fell on her ears. She felt glad that she had
secured the key. She opened the door quickly, and then saw Annie, with
her red hair flying wildly about her face and shoulders, pacing up and
down the room. Annie was talking aloud with great force.
“What can be the matter?” said Leslie as she entered.
“Oh, is that you, my new roomfellow? Pray don’t disturb me. I have just
reached the bottom of a problem; but my brain nearly went in the effort.
I see it at last; it is magnificent. I do wish you were mathematical;
you could rejoice with me.”
Leslie glanced at her with a smile.
“I don’t know anything whatever about mathematics,” she said; “but, at
least, I won’t disturb you.”
She moved softly to her own end, sat down on a corner of her sofa-bed,
and taking up her Bible read a verse or two before she went to bed. The
familiar words quieted her overexcited heart. She thought of her mother
at home, of Llewellyn, and of the younger children; and for the first
time a rush of real loneliness visited her.
“But I won’t give way to it,” she said to herself. “Strange as it all is
at the present moment, I am certain I shall find it delightful by and
by. I intend to make the very best of everything. Poor Annie
Colchester—has she a chance to sleep with that terrible mental
excitement? I only trust I shan’t go mad over literature in the way she
does over mathematics.”
Annie, having worn off some of her surplus excitement, had again sunk
down by her desk; her face was buried in her hands, and she was sighing
in a feeble sort of fashion. Leslie went up and touched her on her
shoulder.
“You ought to go to bed,” she said; “you are absolutely weary from all
that work.”
“To bed?” said Annie. “Just feel my brow.” She caught hold of Leslie’s
slim hand and held it to her forehead.
“It does burn awfully,” said Leslie. “You really ought not to work too
hard.”
“But I must; you can never guess what depends on my work. There, I ought
not to confide in a new girl and on the first night.”
“Tell me anything that will comfort you,” said Leslie in a voice full of
sympathy. “I quite understand home life, if it is that you allude to.”
“I don’t. I never knew home life, and I cannot possibly tell you
to-night, nor, perhaps, ever; but I am willing to say this much: There
is a great, a terrible reason why I must succeed. If I take honors in
mathematics all will be well, if not—— Don’t ask me any more, Miss
Gilroy.”
“Well, at least, let me help you to go to bed,” said Leslie.
“To bed, with this head of mine! It is almost on fire, and my feet are
like ice. I could not possibly sleep. I often lie awake until morning.
When matters are very bad, I rise and pace the floor. You won’t mind,
will you, if you hear me pacing between two and four, because I do so
most nights?”
“I am sorry,” said Leslie, trying to smother her own feelings of
annoyance. “I mean I am sorry on your account; but you must go to bed
now. I cannot share your room and not feel a certain amount of
responsibility with regard to you. I will rub your feet and make them
warm if you will let me, and if I put a handkerchief, wrung out of
water, to your head the heat will soon leave it. Llewellyn was like that
once or twice, and I always got him to sleep in that fashion. He fell
asleep while I was rubbing. Oh, it is so soothing! Do let me try it.”
“You are a kind-hearted creature; but who in the world is Llewellyn?”
“My brother, and the darling of my heart.”
“Your brother, the darling of your heart,” echoed Annie. A queer
expression filled her eyes; they flashed with sudden fire. She started
to her feet.
“I am glad you are my roomfellow,” she said impulsively. “I feel that by
and by we shall be friends. Do give me your hand; put it on my forehead.
It is true that you have a soothing touch.”
“The thing to remember just now,” said Leslie, speaking as brightly as
she could, “is that it is almost twelve o’clock. It is very wrong indeed
of you to be up so late; and when did you eat anything last? I happened
to notice that you scarcely touched your dinner.”
“When did I eat? I can never eat when my brain is on fire.”
“Have you nothing in the room now—biscuits, or anything of that sort?”
“I have a dim sort of idea that a tin of very stale biscuits stands
behind that rubbish on the top of the chest of drawers.”
“Stale as they are, they will be better than nothing. You must eat one.
I shall get something better for you to-morrow. I am sure that I have
been sent to this room to help you a little. Now, do take off your
things, and get into bed. Try to remember that if you become seriously
ill you won’t be able to help the person you mean to help; you won’t get
your honors after all.”
“Are you certain? How seriously you speak!”
“Yes, I am quite certain. A sick brain never gets anything really worth
having. My mother has told me that.”
“Your mother; but she must be a middle-aged woman.”
“I do not see what that has to do with it; and at any rate she is only a
little over forty.”
“Oh, she is more than middle-aged. She belongs to the dead and gone
woman, who never did anything worth speaking of in her life.”
“You are vastly mistaken,” said Leslie, with spirit. “You would not say
that if you knew her. My mother is a journalist, and makes a very good
income with her work. I don’t think anyone could write a better leader
than she, and as to her pars., they are quite the best the _Grapho_ ever
receives.”
“Does your mother write for the _Grapho_?”
“Yes, and for several other leading papers. She is on the staff of the
_Daily Post_.”
“You astound me. She must be a well-informed woman.”
“She does know a few things,” said Leslie, trying to suppress a smile.
“Now, please get into bed; for, if you are not tired, I am.”
“Well, just to please you, and as it is your first night. You are a nice
creature. I saw that the moment you entered the room, and I am truly
sorry I am your roomfellow, for I know I shall worry you terribly. I may
as well tell you frankly that annoy you I shall, for I cannot possibly
help myself. If I get mathematics on the brain I always go the whole
length, and that means pacing the floor and mumbling problems to myself,
sometimes for hours. As to tidiness, I have known myself to fling a book
from one end of the room to the other in a fit of excitement. I only
trust none of my books may hit you by mistake.”
“I echo that wish,” said Leslie; “but, as I have got a screen, I shall
put it round my bed now that you have warned me. Please get into your
own bed now, for I do not mean to sleep until I see you comfortable, and
I am dead tired.”
Annie opened her red-brown eyes very slowly, and fixed them on Leslie’s
face.
“To oblige you, I’ll do what you wish,” she said.
She tumbled into bed, did not attempt to say her prayers, flung her head
on the pillow, and closed her eyes.
“How my temples do beat,” she said with a sort of a sob, “and my legs
are icy up to my knees, and——”
“Drink this cold water to begin with,” said Leslie. “You are under my
care now, and must submit to my directions.”
She brought a glass of ice-cold water, and held it to Annie’s lips.
“Oh, thank you; I was so terribly thirsty!” Annie drained the glass off
and returned it to her companion.
“You are good,” she repeated. She flung her head down again on her
pillow.
Leslie got out one of her own handkerchiefs, wrung it out of cold water,
and laid it upon Annie’s brow. Then kneeling down, she softly unfastened
the bedclothes, and began to rub the girl’s feet. She did this softly
and rhythmically, as she had done often and often for Llewellyn when he
was in his fits of literary despair. By slow degrees her efforts took
effect; Annie’s groans grew less, her eyes closed, and in half an hour
she was asleep.
“Poor thing!” thought Leslie. “I shall see to her having a nice meal
to-morrow evening. I shall make her give me some of her money to get the
needful things with. We will have our own spirit-stove and a saucepan,
and I will buy milk and cocoa. When she has taken something hot, which
will be much better than cold water, and goes to bed really warm, she
will sleep. I only trust she won’t wake between two and four o’clock,
for I am dead tired.”
Remembering Annie’s warning, Leslie put the screen round her bed, next
tumbled in; thought that the bed with the broken spring was anything but
comfortable, but then reflected that she was too tired to care. She was
at St. Wode’s; the dream of her life was fulfilled, and even Annie
Colchester could not keep her awake.