Elizabeth Hobart at Exeter Hall. Jean Katherine Baird
see. People are bound to live up to their clothes. That is why, on general principles, I disapprove of bathing and gym suits. They give the wearer such a sense of freedom.” She laughed again. Elizabeth knew not whether she were serious or joking. She was so effervescing with good humor that her companion had no opportunity for a moment’s dullness or homesickness.
“There’s the ten-minute bell,” she exclaimed, as they returned to the study. “That is our last warning, and gives no one an excuse to be late. You will find Exeter rigid in many ways, Miss Hobart. Miss Morgan is what I call a crank on development of character. She keeps track of the thousand little things that a girl is supposed not to do. In her lectures to us, which she gives twice a semester, she declares that these seeming trifles are neither sins nor crimes in themselves, but getting into the habit of yielding to trifles is detrimental to the development of strong character. Therefore,” at this Miss Wilson drew herself up as tall as possible, and assuming Miss Morgan’s best manner continued, “trifles must be made subservient to us. We must conquer ourselves even in these.” Here Miss Wilson laughed merrily. “Being late; not having your necktie straight; letting your shoes run down at the heel; missing lectures – these, all these, and hundreds more, are trifles.”
There was a hurried knock at the door. Without waiting for an invitation to enter, a young lady came in. Elizabeth’s fear of out-dressing the other girls vanished at the sight of her. The newcomer was a girl of slender physique and delicate, regular features. Her skin was almost olive in hue; her eyes were dark, with brows so heavy and black as to be noticeable. They were too close together and her lips and nostrils too thin to permit her being beautiful. Her dress was handsome and showy. It was of white silk, elaborated with heavy insertions, and transparent yoke and sleeve-caps made it suitable for an evening gown. Her hands were covered with rings scintillating at every gesture. Each movement of her body suggested silk linings and petticoats. Her manner of speaking had a touch of affectation.
“Ah, Miss Wilson, I’m awfully sorry to intrude, but will you be kind enough to hook my waist? I can’t reach the last two hooks on the shoulder. This style of fastening dresses in the back is such a nuisance.”
“Surely,” replied Miss Wilson. Elizabeth was surprised at the change which came to her roommate’s voice. There was neither vivacity nor good humor in it. It was expressive of mere icy courtesy.
“You must bend your knees a little, or I’ll be compelled to get on a chair. You’re so much taller than I.”
The girl complied. Miss Wilson put the refractory hooks to their proper use, then stood quiet. Her guest made some trifling remark as though to continue the conversation; but received no encouragement. Her dark cheeks flushed. “Thank you,” she began hurriedly, “I’m sorry to bother you so.”
“It was no bother,” in the same cold, conventional voice. “I can assist you any time. I understand how difficult it is to get into your clothes when you have no roommate to pull you together.” Then with a smile she turned to Elizabeth. “Come, Miss Hobart, we must not be late for dinner the first evening at Exeter.” So saying, she held open the door, allowing Elizabeth to precede her from the room. Miss Wilson gave no explanation to Elizabeth of her manner toward the girl; neither did she offer an excuse for not introducing her. As they passed the open door, Elizabeth caught a view of this girl’s study. It was more than comfortable. There was a luxury of soft cushions and rich hangings. There were chairs and tables of carved wood.
From all the rooms the students came forth two by two, their tongues flying as they made their way toward the dining-hall. There were frequent stops to greet one another, and a babel of voices expressing pleasure at this reunion. There were handshakes for those who were newcomers, and embraces for old friends. Every one knew every one else or was going through the first process of meeting them.
The olive-skinned girl in the handsome gown came from her room and passed the others. Each girl was careful to nod and bid her good-evening, but none greeted her effusively or even so much as shook hands with her.
Miss Wilson was not lax in courtesy now. Drawing her arm through Elizabeth’s, she came up to the group of girls at the head of the main stairway. “I wish you girls to meet Miss Hobart,” she cried, “so that you may condole with her. She is to room with me this semester.”
“Why this semester?” rejoined a tall girl in the group as she came forward extending her hand. “Why not the year?”
“She may not survive,” said Miss Wilson. “If she’s able to stand me one semester, then she’ll be compelled to stay the year out.”
“I am Anna Cresswell,” continued the tall girl to Elizabeth. “Mary Wilson’s introductions leave much to be desired. She rarely sees fit to mention the names of the people she introduces.”
Miss Stoner and Miss Kean came up at this juncture. They had changed their traveling dresses, and were wearing light challis. They were introduced to Elizabeth, but neither made mention that they had seen each other in the car or had come up in the carriage together. Landis was most demonstrative in greeting Miss Wilson, chiding her for not writing during vacation, and declaring that they must make up for lost time by spending a great many leisure hours together now. Miss Wilson laughed merrily. She had been busy all summer, she said, and had written only to her own people. Elizabeth noticed that she expressed no desire to mortgage her future leisure hours by any promises.
“You busy?” exclaimed Landis. “Now, what were you doing – reading novels, dressing and driving about?”
“I should scarcely be content with such a summer, Landis. No; I played nurse-girl to Mrs. Gleason’s large family. I was busy, too. The place was no sinecure, I assure you.”
“Mrs. Gleason – from Gleasonton?” exclaimed Min. “Why, I thought she had no children.”
“She hasn’t – but she adopts them annually. During July and August we had a dozen babies at their home. We went for them in the morning and took them back at night, and I gave each one of them a bath every day.” This last was said triumphantly.
“I’ve heard she was rather – eccentric!” said Landis.
“Don’t you know her?” asked Elizabeth.
“No; I do not – not personally,” was the response, “but we have mutual friends.”
Miss Wilson would have quitted Miss Stoner and Miss Kean here, but was prevented by Landis telling her experience that day in the train, how a woman, a total stranger, had taken her to task for throwing away her lunch.
“She was a common-looking person,” she added. “One could see she belonged to the middle class, and I suppose had been compelled to practice economy, so that my throwing a sandwich away seemed recklessly extravagant.”
“Did you think she was common-looking?” asked Elizabeth. “Her skin was as fine as a baby’s, and her eyes were beautiful. Didn’t you see how expressive they were?”
“No, I didn’t. All I could see was her gingham shirtwaist suit with its prudish white linen cuffs and collar, and her rough straw hat.”
Miss Wilson put her arm through her roommate’s to hurry her.
“Excuse us, girls, if we walk faster; I wish Miss Hobart to meet Nancy. She’s the girl ahead with Anna Cresswell.”
Elizabeth was borne along toward the dining-hall, at the door of which Miss Cresswell and her companion stopped.
“Nancy, I wish you and Miss Hobart to meet,” said Miss Wilson, “and I intend that you shall be good friends. Nancy and I were brought up together, and she’s used to me. When you want anyone to sympathize with you because of me, go to Nancy.”
“Her name is Miss Eckdahl,” added Miss Cresswell with a smile.
“But she should have known. Everyone should know Nancy without being told. What is the good of being famous otherwise? If your name goes not abroad, what is the good of being a champion in mathematics or anything else? When I say ‘Nancy,’ the intelligent person should know that I mean – ”
“Nancy Hanks,” added the girl herself. “I might be mistaken