BELLE’S ROOM AT ST. WODE’S.
Eileen and Marjory had found their way to Belle’s hall. They were
standing in the attic which she had described to them so graphically.
“I cannot imagine how you managed to furnish it in this extraordinary
way,” began Eileen. “I have heard from one or two of the girls here that
the furniture is put in by the heads of the college. Now, our rooms, for
instance, are quite decently furnished.”
“Too much furniture,” interrupted Belle. She uttered a groan as she
spoke.
“The rooms certainly possess the necessary comforts of civilized life,”
pursued Eileen, “and for my part I cannot say that I am sorry. We have
no luxuries; but the furniture in the room is good and neat. We have a
chest of drawers each, and proper washhand-stands of course, and snug
little sofa-beds, and carpets, and curtains to the windows, and——”
“Need you quote any further from that tiresome list?” said Belle again.
She was standing by her small attic window with her back to the view.
“One thing is delightful in this room,” said Eileen, running up to the
window as she spoke. “You have a splendid view—much better than ours. Do
step aside, Belle, and let me look out.”
“If you wish to,” said Belle drearily.
“Wish to! I always love scenery. Surely, Belle, you cannot think it
wrong to look out at this lovely view?”
“No, not wrong exactly,” said Belle; “not wrong; but I have little heart
to admire anything to-day. I am disappointed, and I must own it.”
“Now, what have we done to annoy you?” said Marjorie.
“Much,” replied Belle. She looked fixedly from one sister to the other.
“I had hoped a great deal before you arrived; but already the keenest
sense of disillusionment is mine. You are neither of you beginning your
college life as I could have hoped. There are two attics on the same
floor with this, which you might have got had you given me the
management of your affairs. I should have gone to Miss Lauderdale and
represented the case to her. I believe she would have been very glad to
let them to you. The college is overfull at present, and yet no girls
wish to use the attics. These attics are at present unfurnished, and the
college would, doubtless, when the matter was properly represented,
allow you to have them as bare as you pleased. They did so in my case. I
represented that it would be a saving. I managed the thing somehow, and
here I am. It is true that I dread the governors visiting my room and
ordering some of those useless articles which the other girls weaken
their characters by using. But you did not put the matter into my hands,
your old friend; and now you are accommodated with some of the nicest
rooms in college.”
“Oh, never mind; don’t worry any more about the furniture,” said Eileen.
“It seems to me that one can waste time in trying to lead the existence
of the anchorite as well as in endeavoring to surround one’s self with
luxuries.”
“One thing, at least, we will promise you, Belle—we are not going in for
any extras—no pictures nor knick-knacks for us.”
“Thank Heaven!” said Belle, with a deep sigh. “Had you done so, I must
have cut you.”
“Don’t you think that would have been rather narrow of you?” said
Marjorie.
“Narrow or not, I should have felt it my duty to do it. I have my
eccentricities—I own to the fact—and I will cling to them through thick
and thin. What you said just now was quite right, Eileen; we will drop
the subject of furniture. After all, what does it matter whether one has
a chest of drawers or not, whether one has a suitable washhand-stand or
not? Are these the things we live at St. Wode’s for? What about the
intellect, what about the development of the brain? Your brows are
capable of expansion, your eyes are capable of acquiring depth, your——”
“Hear! hear!” said Eileen.
“Do not interrupt me with that senseless remark. I speak to you from my
soul. You come here to study, to forget yourselves in the great riches
of the past. You are like two miners come to dig out the gold. You have
heard of that awful place, Klondike, where people go mad over earthly
gold. Yours is the intellectual, the spiritual, the gold which is
treasured in the great storehouses of the past.”
As Belle spoke she paced up and down the room. Her dress was very
untidy, and there was a great rent behind. While she was speaking there
came a soft tap at the door. She did not hear it. Eileen went and opened
it. Lettie stood without.
“Dear me, Lettie, do come in,” said Eileen. “We have not seen you for
quite a long time—nearly twenty-four hours.”
She kissed her cousin as she spoke.
“How are you getting on?”
“Capitally,” said Lettie. “I went to your rooms in North Hall and heard
that you were here. You did not visit me, so I thought Belle might be
engrossing your society. How are you, Belle?”
“Well, thank you,” replied Belle, in an absent voice. “By the way, are
you?—oh, yes! I remember now; you are—the girl who ought never to have
come to St. Wode’s.”
“You are quite mistaken,” replied Letitia with spirit. “I am a girl who
will be very much benefited by the pleasant life which I see opening
before me. By the way, Eileen and Marjory, I am going to the Broad now.
There are a lot of things I require for my room. I thought perhaps you
would like to come too. You will want shelves for your books and a few
knick-knacks and——”
“If you go with that young person——” said Belle, making a step forward.
She approached Eileen and almost glared into her face.
Eileen laughed.
“Dear Belle, do finish your sentence,” she said. “What is to happen to
me if I dare to go to the Broad with poor Lettie?”
“You make my soul sink in despair,” said Belle. “I scarcely know what I
feel; my heart is wrung. Oh! how you disappoint me!”
“Whether you buy things or not, Eileen, do come with me,” said Lettie.
“I don’t know my way to the Broad at present, and would rather be with
you than alone. Whatever you may do in the future, please remember that
I am your first cousin, almost your sister, and we have lived together
all our lives.”
“Of course, dear Lettie, we will both come,” said Eileen. “Belle, we
will visit you another day; we are only interrupting your work now.”
“I was resting when you arrived,” said Belle. She threw herself
tragically back against one of the hard-bottomed chairs. “Go—yes go; I
don’t expect to see much of any of you. It is the fate of those who
would explore, who would delve in the mines of the past, to bring up
diamonds alone; we are solitary in our labor. I had a hope, it is true,
when I saw you in London; but never mind. Go, all of you; there is the
door—go!”
“I wish you’d let me mend your dress first,” said Lettie, whipping a
neat little housewife out of her pocket and preparing to thread a
needle.
“Mend my dress?” said Belle. “What do you mean?”
“If you will just stand with your back to the light, you can go on
thinking and talking; I won’t be a minute sewing up that awful rent. You
are not respectable as you are. Now, do let me.”
“Yes, do, Belle; don’t be a goose,” said Marjorie.
Belle’s eyes flashed. Lettie was already attacking her with needle and
thread. The rent was presently sewn up.
“I tell you what it is,” said Lettie good-humoredly, “I’m not half such
a bad soul as you make me out. Now that I happen to be in the same
hall——”
Belle shivered.
“I’ll run up to this desolate attic, now and then, and look after your
wardrobe.”
“You won’t; for I shan’t admit you,” said Belle.
“Yes, I will. I shall take opportunities of coming in when you are
absent. You are a friend of Marjorie and Eileen; and, for the sake of
their respectability, you must not go about in absolute rags. Now, come,
girls, and leave her in peace.”
Belle approached her attic window. She stood now with her back to the
girls and her face to the view; but it is to be doubted if she saw it.
Her dress, a dirty serge, trailed along the floor, one wisp of her thin
hair had escaped from the little knot at the back of her head, and was
lying on her shoulder.
“Poor Belle,” said Eileen, with a sigh.
“I tell you what it is, girls,” said Lettie, as she went downstairs.
“Belle is such an oddity that, if something is not done to save her, she
will soon lose her senses. I mean to hunt her up. I was wondering last
night what my mission in this place could be. I little thought that I
was to be inflicted with Belle Acheson.”
“She certainly doesn’t wish for you, Lettie, so you needn’t take her up
unless you like,” said Eileen.
“Oh, I must do something,” said Lettie; “that fact has been well borne
in upon me—it is to be Belle Acheson or nothing. No trial could well be
greater. I hope I shall benefit by it. But come now; I want to order my
things.”
“Must you order them to-day?”
“Of course I must. My room is disgracefully bare; and as I have plenty
of money I mean to make it as pretty and cheerful as possible, and as
like a dream.”
“Have your lectures been decided for you yet?” said Eileen, in a
would-be stern voice.
“Yes; I saw Miss Browning after breakfast. I am going to work a little
bit at literature.”
“A little bit at literature! Lettie, you are perfectly awful.”
“Well, I’m not going to kill myself, darling, if that’s what you mean.
Of course I shall work for so many hours a day; but I don’t think I
shall take honors. If I get through my pass exam., I shall consider that
I am doing admirably. Now do come, girls; hurry up. You must have tea
with me to-morrow in my room. I expect I shall know all the nicest girls
in the place; they are going to call on me most likely this evening. Oh,
I shall make my room perfectly sweet. You will all love to come to me;
and if I can wheedle that poor old Belle out of her den, I shall feel
that I have achieved a triumph. But tell me now, girls, how you are both
getting on?”
“Very well, indeed,” said Eileen.
“And you are not going to buy pretty things for your rooms?”
“No.”
“At least let me recommend you to provide yourselves with a tea-service
each; because if other girls invite you to tea you must return the
compliment. Then they give endless cocoa parties here, and you will be
expected to take your share.”
“I don’t see that at all,” replied Eileen. “If we are bound to entertain
a great deal at St. Wode’s, we may just as well stay with mother in
London. I mean to ask Miss Frere about the poor; surely we can visit
them if we like?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” said Letitia. “To quote your own
words, you have come here to study. Surely you can visit the poor when
you college life is over?”
“We can at least make clothes for them; that is a good idea,” said
Marjorie.
“Much better than visiting them,” cried Letitia. “You can buy yards of
holland and any other stiff, disagreeable, pricky material you like, and
work away in your leisure hours when the rest of us are having fun. By
the way, have you seen Miss Gilroy this morning?”
“Two or three times. Poor girl, I rather pity her. She is in a room with
a dreadful creature of the name of Annie Colchester.”
“How pretty Miss Gilroy is,” said Lettie. “Might we not call and ask her
to come to the Broad with us? She is sure to want things for her room.”
“Just as you please,” said Eileen. “I’ll run up to Miss Colchester’s
room and find out if she is in.”
Lettie and Marjorie remained on the sweep of gravel outside the hall.
Eileen ran into the house. In a few minutes she returned, accompanied by
Leslie.
“This is really kind of you,” said Leslie. “I was wondering how I could
get to the Broad, for I don’t know many girls yet; but I am told that
some of the students will call on me to-night.”
“They are to call on us, too,” said Eileen. “It is rather formidable, is
it not?”
“But, Miss Gilroy, don’t you want to buy things for your room?”
“A few things I must have,” said Leslie, “but I rather despair of making
a room shared with Miss Colchester pretty; all the same, I will do my
best.”
The girls visited Hunt’s well-known shop in the Broad and gave their
orders. Lettie’s were extensive. She must have pictures. Burne-Jones’
“Love among the Ruins,” “The Happy Warrior” by Watts, “St. Cecilia and a
Choir of Angels” by Van Eyck, and other treasures were secured.
Knick-knacks also were bought by the young lady, who had a keen eye to
effect. She bought big jars of dark-blue china, a few cups and saucers,
two or three plates, a fan or two, a couple of screens, a few
æsthetic-looking tablecloths, and a piano-cloth to cover the back of her
chest of drawers. A pretty little tea-service, a brass kettle, and a
tea-table which could fold up and be put out of the way when not needed
for use, were also secured. Finally she treated herself to a great bunch
of flowers and some flowering plants.
Her purchases took time, and in spite of themselves Eileen and Marjorie
were interested. After a great deal of persuasion they were induced to
buy a table and some very plain cups and saucers.
“We will not get any more; it is downright sinful waste,” said Marjorie,
frowning as she spoke.
“All right,” said Lettie. “I am not going to influence you. You are at
present under the awful eye of Belle Acheson. By and by you will see for
yourselves that it is the height of nonsense not to live in comfort when
you can. Now, look at Miss Gilroy; she has more sense than to make
herself miserable when she need not.”
“I certainly do not intend to make myself miserable,” said Leslie.
“There are several useful purchases that I must make. I have the
misfortune,” she continued, glancing from one girl to the other, “to
sleep in the room with a genius, and must provide accordingly.”
“It is such a pity you cannot have a room to yourself,” said Eileen. “I
trust the annoyance won’t last long.”
“I hope not,” said Leslie. “Yes, I must have one of those pretty art
table-cloths, and then I want to go to a grocer’s where I can buy cocoa
and biscuits and tinned milk.”
After a good deal of time spent in making their various purchases, the
girls returned to the college well laden. They met several of their
companions, who nodded to them kindly.
“I consider that we are now settled in college and that our real life
begins to-morrow,” said Leslie. “I have arranged about my work, and mean
to study hard after dinner to-night.”
“You won’t have much chance of that,” said a merry voice, and Jane
Heriot came up.
“Why so?” asked Leslie.
“How do you do?” said Jane, nodding to the two Chetwynd girls. She then
turned to Leslie.
“I will tell you why you won’t have any chance, Miss Gilroy. A whole
party are coming to visit you in your rooms this evening; it is the
custom, and you must submit. You will see half of us to-night and half
of us to-morrow; but after that you will be left in peace. If you like
our society you can have it; if you don’t—why, you can keep as lonely as
you like. But this evening and to-morrow you must put up with us; it is
the fate of all freshers.”