A College Girl | Page 3

an air
of superiority which reduced the elder to silence, the while she
cogitated painfully why such a charge should be cast as a reproach. To
be literal was to be correct. Daniel had not fought the lions! Darsie had
muddled up the fact in her usual scatterbrain fashion, and by good right
should have deplored her error. Darsie, however, was seldom known to
do anything so dull; she preferred by a nimble change of front to put
others in the wrong, and keep the honours to herself. Now, after a
momentary pause, she skimmed lightly on to another phase of the
subject. "What should you say was the character and life history of a
woman who could call her eldest child `Daniel,' the second `Viola
Imogen,' and the third and fourth `Hannah' and `John'?"
Clemence had no inspiration on the subject. She said: "Don't be silly!"
sharply, and left it to Lavender to supply the necessary stimulus.
"Tell us, Darsie, tell us! You make it up--"

"My dear, it is evident to the meanest intellect. She was the child of a
simple country household, who, on her marriage, went to live in a town;
and when her first-born son was born, she pined to have him christened
by her father's name in the grey old church beneath the ivy tower; so
they travelled there, and the white-haired sire held the infant at the font,
while the tears furrowed his aged cheeks. But--by slow degrees the
insidious effects of the great capital invaded the mind of the sweet
young wife, and the simple tastes of her girlhood turned to vanity, so
that when the second babe was born, and her husband wished to call
her Hannah after her sainted grandmother, she wept, and made an awful
fuss, and would not be consoled until he gave in to Viola Imogen, and a
christening cloak trimmed with plush. And she was christened in a city
church, and the organ pealed, and the godmothers wore rich array, and
the poor old father stayed at home and had a slice of christening cake
sent by the post. But the years passed on. Saddened and sobered by the
discipline of life, aged and worn, her thoughts turned once more to her
quiet youth, and when at last a third child--"
"There's only two years between them!"
Darsie frowned, but continued her narrative in a heightened voice--
"--Was laid in her arms, and her husband suggested `Ermyntrude'; she
shuddered, and murmured softly, `Hannah--plain Hannah!' and plain
Hannah she has been ever since!"
A splutter of laughter greeted this denouement, for in truth Hannah
Vernon was not distinguished for her beauty, being one of the plainest,
and at the same time the most good-natured of girls.
Lavender cried eagerly--
"Go on! Make up some more," but Clemence from the dignity of
seventeen years felt bound to protest--
"I don't think you--ought! It's not your business. Mrs Vernon's a friend,
and she wouldn't be pleased. To talk behind her back--"

"All right," agreed Darsie swiftly. "Let's crack nuts!"
Positively she left one breathless! One moment poised on imaginary
flights, weaving stories from the baldest materials, drawing allegories
of the lives of her friends, the next--an irresponsible wisp, with no
thought in the world but the moment's frolic; but whatever might be the
fancy of the moment she drew her companions after her with the
magnetism of a born leader.
In the twinkling of an eye the scene was changed, the Vernons with
their peculiarities were consigned to the limbo of forgotten things,
while boys and girls squatted on the rug scrambling for nuts out of a
paper bag, and cracking them with their teeth with monkey-like agility.
"How many can you crack at a time? Bet you I can crack more than
you!" cried Darsie loudly.
CHAPTER TWO.
THE TELEGRAPH STATION.
The Garnetts' house stood at the corner of Sandon Terrace, and
possessed at once the advantages and drawbacks of its position. The
advantages were represented by three bay windows, belonging
severally to the drawing-room, mother's bedroom, and the play-room
on the third floor. The bay windows at either end of the Terrace
bestowed an architectural finish to its flattened length, and from within
allowed of extended views up and down the street. The drawback lay in
the position of the front door, which stood round the corner in a side
street, on which abutted the gardens of the houses of its more
aristocratic neighbour, Napier Terrace. Once, in a moment of unbridled
temper, Vi Vernon had alluded to the Garnett residence as being
located "at our back door," and though she had speedily repented, and
apologised, even with tears, the sting remained.
Apart from the point of inferiority, however, the position had its charm.
From the eerie of the