A College Girl | Page 8

Aunt,--
"Maria Hayes."
Mrs Garnett read this communication in silence, handed it to her
husband, and watched him flush and frown over the perusal.
"Does not even go through the form of asking our consent!"
"No! That's Aunt Maria all over. You could hardly imagine that she
would. Oh dear! Oh dear! I'm afraid, Will--I'm afraid she will have to
go!"
"Poor little kiddie, yes! How she will hate it! Just at this moment when
they are all wild with joy at the thought of their holiday with the
Vernons. It seems positively brutal!"
"Oh, it does. I am so sorry for her--whichever it may be--but one must
sometimes be cruel to be kind. We can't afford--I am not mercenary, as
you know--but with our means we can't afford to refuse any possible
advantage for our girls! The sacrifice of a summer holiday ought not to
weigh against that."
"No, you're right, quite right. So be it then. Write and tell her to come,
only I tell you plainly my holiday's spoiled... With Darsie gone--"
"Dear! she has not chosen yet."
"Dear! you know perfectly well--"
They looked at each other, smiling, rueful, half-ashamed. It seemed like
treason to the other girls, this mutual acknowledgment that Darsie was

the flower of the flock, the child of the six to whom all strangers were
attracted as by a magnet. Clarence and Lavender were equally as dear
to the parents' hearts, but there was no denying the existence of a
special and individual pride in the fascinations of Darsie.
Mr Garnett turned aside with an impatient shrug.
"There's one thing, Emily, you must tell her when it is settled! There'll
be a tremendous scene. I flatly refuse--"
"Very well, dear, very well; I'll do it. But it's not decided yet, remember,
and one can never be sure. I'd better break the idea to the girls before
Aunt Maria comes, and let them get over the first excitement. To-night
would be a good opportunity. You will be out late, so would be spared
the scene!"
"Bless you, Emily! I'm a coward, I know, but I should be grateful. I
can't answer for what I should do if Darsie cried, and begged my
protection. Women have twice the pluck of men in these affairs!"
Nevertheless it was with a quaking heart that Mrs Garnett broached the
object of Aunt Maria's proposition over the schoolroom tea that
afternoon, and her nervousness was not decreased by the smilingly
unperturbed manner in which it was received. Never, never for a
moment did it appear possible to the three girls that such a proposition
could be seriously discussed.
"So likely!" sneered Clemence with a fine disdain. "Give up all the fun
and excitement of the sea with the Vernons, to browse with Aunt Maria.
So likely, to be sure!"
"Poor dear old love! She is deluded. Thinks it would be a pleasure and
benefit, does she. I wouldn't take a thousand pounds--"
Thus Lavender. Darsie went a step farther in tragic declamation.
"I'd drown myself first! To sit there--panting, in hot rooms, on Benger's
food, and know that all the others were bathing and running wild on the

shore--I'd burst! I'd run away in an hour--"
"Dears, it's a beautiful old place. There are gardens, and lawns, and
horses, and dogs. Cows, too! I am sure there are cows--she used to keep
a herd of Jerseys. You could see them being milked."
"Welsh cows are good enough for me. I don't need Jerseys. Or lawns!
Give me the free, untrammelled countryside!
"`And to see it reflected in eyes that I love.'"
Darsie paraphrased a line of the sweet old ballad, singing it in a clear,
bell-like voice to a pantomime of clasped hands and rolling eyes. "It
would be bad enough in an ordinary year, but to rend us apart from the
Vernons--oh, no, it's unthinkable!"
"You have the Vernons near you all the year, dear. Aunt Maria only
asks for eight weeks. There are occasions in life when it does not do to
think only of our own pleasure."
Silence. A note in the mother's voice had startled her hearers into the
conviction that the invitation must be regarded seriously, and not tossed
aside as a joke. A lacerating suspicion that the authorities were in
favour of an acceptance pierced like a dart.
"Mother! What do you mean? You couldn't possibly be so cruel--"
"Mother, you don't mean--."
"Mother, what do you mean?"
"I mean that you ought to go, dears, which ever one of you is asked.
Aunt Maria is an old lady, and she is lonely. Her doctor has ordered
cheerful companionship. Moreover, she has been a kind friend to father
in the past, and has a right to expect some consideration in return. If
you went