"Dearest Darsie,--A year ago you were cheering me! How I wish I could
do the same for you in your need, but as I can't be present in the
flesh, here comes a little line to greet you, old dear, and to tell you
to be of good cheer. You are very tired, and very discouraged, and very
blue. I _know_! Every one is. It's part of the game. Do you remember
what a stern mentor I had, and how she bullied me, and packed me to bed,
and took away my books? Oh, the good old times! The good old times,
how happy we were--how I think of them now, and long to be back! But
the best part remains, for I have still my friend, and you and I,
Darsie, `belong' for our lives.
"Cheer up, old dear! _You've done a lot better than you think_!
"Margaret."
"What's the matter now?" asked the second-year girl sharply, spying two
big tears course slowly down her patient's cheeks, and Darsie returned a
stammering reply--
"I've had such a ch-ch-cheering letter!"
"Have you indeed! The less of _that_ sort of cheering you get this
week, the better for you!" snapped Marian once more. She was jealous of
Margaret France, as she was jealous of every girl in the College for
whom Darsie Garnett showed a preference, and she strongly resented any
interference with her own prerogative. "Hurry into your dressing-gown,
please, and I'll brush your hair," she said now in her most dictatorial
tones. "I'm a pro. at brushing hair--a hair-dresser taught me how to do
it. You hold the brush at the side to begin with, and work gradually
round to the flat. I let a Fresher brush mine one right when I'd a
headache, and she began in the middle of my cheek. There's been a
coldness between us ever since. There! isn't that good? Gets right
into the roots, doesn't it, and tingles them up! Nothing so soothing as
a smooth, hard brush."
Darsie shut her eyes and purred like a sleek, lazy little cat.
"De-lic-ious! Lovely! You _do_ brush well! I could sit here for
hours."
"You won't get a chance. Ten minutes at most, and then off you go, and
not a peep at another book till to-morrow morning."
"Marian--_really_--I _must_! Just for ten minutes, to revive my
memory."
"I'll tell you a story!" said Marian quietly--"a _true_ story from my
own experience. It was when I was at school and going in for the
Cambridge Senior, the last week, when we were having the exams. We had
_slaved_ all the term, and were at the last gasp. The head girl was one
Annie Macdiarmid, a marvel of a creature, the most all-round scholar
I've ever met. She was invariably first in everything, and I usually
came in a bad third. Well, we'd had an arithmetic exam, one day, pretty
stiff, but not more so than usual, and on this particular morning at
eleven o'clock we were waiting to hear the result. The Mathematic
Master was a lamb--so keen, and humorous, and just--a _rageur_ at times,
but that was only to be expected. He came into the room, papers in
hand, his mouth screwed up, and his eyebrows nearly hidden under his
hair. We knew at a glance that something awful had happened. He
cleared his throat several times, and began to read aloud the arithmetic
results. `Total, a hundred. Bessie Smith, eighty-seven.' There was a
rustle of surprise. Not Annie Macdiarmid? Just Bessie--an ordinary
sort of creature, who wasn't going in for the Local at all. `Mary Ross,
eighty-two. Stella Bruce, seventy-four.' Where did _I_ come in? I'd
never been lower than that. `Kate Stevenson, sixty-four.' Some one
else fifty, some one else forty, _and_ thirty _and_ twenty, and still
not a mention of Annie Macdiarmid or of me. You should have _seen_ her
face! I shall never forget it. _Green_! and she laced her fingers in
and out, and chewed, and chewed. I was too stunned to feel. The world
seemed to have come to an end. Down it came--sixteen, fourteen, ten--
and then at last--at bitter, long last--`Miss Marian White, _six_! Miss
Macdiar-mid, Two!'"
Darsie stared beneath the brush, drawing a long breath of dismay.
"What _did_ you do?"
"Nothing! That was where he showed himself so wise. An ordinary master
would have raged and stormed, insisted upon our working for extra hours,
going over and over the old ground, but he knew better. He just banged
all the books together, tucked them under his arm, and called out: `No
more work! Put on your hats and run off home as fast as you can go, and
tell your mothers from me to take you to the Waxworks, or a Wild Beast
show. Don't dare to show yourselves in school again until Monday
morning. Read as many stories as you please, but open a school book at
your peril!'"
Marian paused dramatically, Darsie peered at her through a mist of hair,
and queried weakly, "Well?"
"Well--so we didn't! We just slacked and lazed, and amused ourselves
till the Monday morning, and then, like giants refreshed, we went down
to the fray and--"
"And what?"
"I've told you before! I got second-class honours, and the Macdiarmid
came out first in all England, distinction in a dozen subjects--
arithmetic among them. So now, Miss Garnett, kindly take the moral to
heart, and let me hear no more nonsense about `reviving memories.'
_Your_ memory needs putting to sleep, so that it may wake up refreshed
and active after a good night's rest."
And Darsie weakly, reluctantly obeyed.