"How about the effect of learning on your _looks_, now?" I next
inquired. "Is it true that classical and mathematical pursuits are apt
to exercise a disfiguring effect? Not that, with such blooming faces
as I see around me--er--if you will allow me to say so--"
But they wouldn't; on the contrary, I was given to understand,
somewhat plainly, that compliments were perhaps ill-advised in that
gathering.
"Are you--hem--fond of athletics?" was the question I put next from my
lofty perch. "Do you go in for _games_ at all, now?"
"Of course we do!" said the fair-haired girl, affording a practical
demonstration of the fact by taking me down and proceeding with her
lively companions to engage in the old classical game of _pila_ or
[Greek: sphairistikae], the recreation in which Ulysses long ago found
Nausicaa engaged with her maidens. On this occasion, however, _I_
represented the _pila_, or ball, and although, in justice to their
accuracy of eye and hand, I am bound to admit that I was seldom
allowed to touch the ground as I sped swiftly from one to the other,
still I felt considerable relief when, on my urgent protestations that
I was fully convinced of their proficiency in this amusement, they
were prevailed upon to bring this pastime to a close.
"We are breaking the rule of silence in this room," said the
fair-haired one. "And you _do_ ask such a lot of questions! But, as
you seem curious about our athletic pursuits, come and I will try to
show you."
I crawled after my guide without a word, inwardly reflecting that
I was sorry I had spoken, and heartily cursing (though without
pronouncing it aloud) the very name of that eminent Physician, Dr.
CRICHTON BROWNE. She took me first of all to a field where a bevy of
maidens were engaged in a game of hockey.
"We are keen on hockey," said my guide, and, as she spoke, a girl,
flushed and radiant, caught me across the most sensitive part of
the shin with a hockey-stick. No need to ask _her_ if she felt well.
I limped away, and, in another part of the field, saw a comely and
robust maiden practising drop-kicks, utterly regardless of the fact
that I was looking on. I received the football in the pit of my
stomach, and the name of CRICHTON BROWNE died on my lips.
My guide smiled as she saw that I had taken in the scene that was
being enacted under my very nose.
"Do you play cricket?" she asked, with something like pity in her
eyes. I did _not_--but I was by this time in such condign fear of this
young Amazon that I was really afraid to admit my total ignorance of
the sport. She made me wicket-keep for her, _without_ pads, for an
entire hour, at the end of which I readily assented to an invitation
for further exploration.
We went through endless passages to an endless gymnasium, and every
now and then I came across an Indian club or a dumb-bell, wielded by
energetic female athletes. I should have liked to ask them whether
they felt well, but I realised--only just in time--that the question
would have been an impertinence.
"Are you getting satisfied?" said my unwearied guide, with another of
her smiles, "or, do you still think we are a puny misshapen race?"
"Quite satisfied!" I replied, faintly, as I endeavoured to unclose a
rapidly discolouring eye, "in fact, I begin to discredit that alarmist
cry--"
Before I could complete the sentence, I found myself executing an
involuntary parabola over some adjacent parallel bars. My young
friend's brows had contracted into a frown, although she waited
politely for me to pick myself up.
"I thought we agreed not to mention that name!" she said, coldly.
I felt that any attempt to explain my innocence would be received
with quiet scorn. "I--I should like to ask you just one thing
more," I said, desperately, as I lay on my back, "I am really
entirely converted--quite ashamed. I do hope you won't think
me--er--inquisitive--but I have been so often told--it has been so
constantly asserted--" I found myself bungling horribly in my desire
not to offend.
"Pray go on," she said, "we try to be simple and sincere, and we are
always ready to satisfy an intelligent inquirer."
"Well," I said, desperately, "people _do_ say that you all
wear--er--blue stockings. But I am sure," I added quickly, "that it is
not true" ...
It was too late. When the friend who had smuggled me into the building
came to my rescue, he asked me, rather noisily, "if I was feeling
well?" I replied that I was not, and that I did not think I ever
should again. And I never have.
* * * * *