A College Girl

A College Girl
By Mrs George de Horne Vaizey
CHAPTER ONE.
BOYS AND GIRLS.
This is the tale of two terraces, of two families who lived therein, of
several boys and many girls, and especially of one Darsie, her
education, adventures, and ultimate romance.
Darsie was the second daughter in a family of six, and by reason of her
upsetting nature had won for herself that privilege of priority which by
all approved traditions should have belonged to Clemence, the elder
sister. Clemence was serene and blonde; in virtue of her seventeen
years her pigtail was now worn doubled up, and her skirts had reached
the discreet level of her ankles. She had a soft pink and white face, and
a pretty red mouth, the lips of which permanently fell apart, disclosing
two small white teeth in the centre of the upper gum, because of which
peculiarity her affectionate family had bestowed upon her the nickname
of "Bunnie." Perhaps the cognomen had something to do with her
subordinate position. It was impossible to imagine any one with the
name of "Bunnie" queening it over that will-o'-the-wisp, that electric
flash, that tantalising, audacious creature who is the heroine of these
pages.
Darsie at fifteen! How shall one describe her to the unfortunates who
have never beheld her in the flesh? It is for most girls an awkward age,
an age of angles, of ungainly bulk, of awkward ways, self-conscious
speech, crass ignorance, and sublime conceit. Clemence had passed
through this stage with much suffering of spirits on her own part and
that of her relations; Lavender, the third daughter, showed at thirteen
preliminary symptoms of appalling violence; but Darsie remained as
ever that fascinating combination of a child and a woman of the world,

which had been her characteristic from earliest youth. Always graceful
and alert, she sailed triumphant through the trying years, with straight
back, graceful gait, and eyes a-shine with a happy self-confidence. "I
am here!" announced Darsie's eyes to an admiring world. "Let the band
strike up!"
Some inherent quality in Darsie--some grace, some charm, some spell--
which she wove over the eyes of beholders, caused them to credit her
with a beauty which she did not possess. Even her family shared in this
delusion, and set her up as the superlative in degree, so that "as pretty
as Darsie" had come to be regarded a climax of praise. The glint of her
chestnut hair, the wide, bright eyes, the little oval face set on a long,
slim throat smote the onlooker with instant delight, and so blinded him
that he had no sight left with which to behold the blemishes which
walked hand in hand. Photographs valiantly strove to demonstrate the
truth; pointed out with cruel truth the stretching mouth, the small,
inadequate nose, but even the testimony of sunlight could not convince
the blind. They sniffed, and said: "What a travesty! Never again to that
photographer! Next time we'll try the man in C-- Street," and Darsie's
beauty lived on, an uncontroverted legend.
By a triumph of bad management, which the Garnett girls never ceased
to deplore, their three brothers came at the end instead of the beginning
of the family. Three grown-up brothers would have been a grand asset;
big boys who would have shown a manly tenderness towards the
weaknesses of little sisters; who would have helped and amused; big
boys going to school, young men going to college, coming home in the
vacations, bringing their friends, acting as squires and escorts to the
girls at home. Later on brothers at business, wealthy brothers, generous
brothers; brothers who understood how long quarter-day was in coming
round, and how astonishingly quickly a girl's allowance vanishes into
space! Clemence, Darsie, and Lavender had read of such brothers in
books, and would have gladly welcomed their good offices in the flesh,
but three noisy, quarrelsome, more or less grimy schoolboys, superbly
indifferent to "those girls"--this was another, and a very different tale!
Harry was twelve--a fair, blunt-featured lad with a yawning cavity in
the front of his mouth, the result of one of the many accidents which

had punctuated his life. On the top story of the Garnett house there ran
a narrow passage, halfway along which, for want of a better site, a
swing depended from two great iron hooks. Harry, as champion
swinger, ever striving after fresh flights, had one day in a frenzy of
enthusiasm swung the rings free from their hold, and descended, swing
and all, in a crash on the oil-clothed floor. The crash, the shrieks of the
victim and his attendant sprites, smote upon Mrs Garnett's ears as she
sat wrestling with the "stocking basket" in a room below, and as she
credibly avowed, took years from her life. Almost the first objects