"She would not appreciate," said Belle; "but perhaps, as you say, she is your guest. Well, I submit. My disappointment has been deep with regard to Miss Gilroy."
"Whether you are disappointed in me or not, please try to enlighten me by your recitation," said Leslie, "for I should enjoy it of all things."
"I don"t suppose for a single instant you will care for it; but I will do my duty. A word may sink in, a tone may have an effect; there is never any saying. A suitable stanza occurs to me. I am about to quote from the great work of Samuel Daniel, who was born at Taunton, in Somersetshire, in 1562, and died in 1619. His "History of the Civil Wars between York and Lancaster," in eight books, was first published in 1595. The highest quality of his verse is a quiet, pensive reflection.
Now, pray, listen. The poem, a stanza of which I will recite, is called "Musophilus." It is addressed to "Philocoslus," a lover of the world.
Musophilus is a lover of the Muse. It commences thus--"
"We had better stop rowing," said Eileen. The girls shipped their oars and bent forward. Belle, with a theatrical gesture, and a flinging up of her right hand, commenced:
""Either Truth, Goodness, Virtue are not still The self-same which they are, and always one, But alter to the project of our will; Or we our actions make them wait upon, Putting them in the livery of our skill, And cast them off again when we have done.""
Here Belle raised herself in the boat.
"For goodness" sake, sit still, or we"ll be upset," said Lettie. "In addition to poetry of the Middle Ages, a ducking is more than I am prepared for."
Belle reseated herself, made an impatient gesture, pushed back her mushroom hat, and resumed:
""And for the few that only lend their ear, That few is all the world; which with a few Do ever live, and move, and work, and stir.
This is the heart doth feel, and only know; The rest of all that only bodies bear, Roll up and down, and fill up but the row.""
"Very fine, indeed," said Lettie; "and I quite see the allusion to myself. I am one of those who but a body bear, roll up and down, and fill up but the row."
To this remark Belle did not deign any reply. She now turned again to Leslie.
"Notwithstanding the disappointment you gave me with regard to your room," she said, "I have not the slightest doubt that you understand what Musophilus alludes to?"
"To a certain extent, yes," replied Leslie.
Belle stretched out her hand.
"I believe I shall win you," she cried. "Come to my room to-morrow; I shall see you alone. Don"t fail to be with me between half-past two and three."
Leslie promised.
"Oh, how could you?" whispered Lettie. "I pity you from my soul; you have done for yourself now."
"I don"t pity myself," answered Leslie. "I am certain Miss Acheson has some fine ideas; and that I shall derive benefit from a conversation with her."
CHAPTER XVIII
THE GUILD OF ST. ELIZABETH.
Immediately after dinner that evening, Leslie ran up to her room to make preparations for her visit to East Hall.
"Come, Annie," she said to Miss Colchester, who was standing with her face to the window and her back to Leslie, "had you not better wrap a shawl about you; it is time to be off."
"I"m not coming," said Annie.
"Not coming? But you must. You know it is not only a request; it is an order from Miss Lauderdale. Every student is to be in East Hall at half-past eight."
"It doesn"t matter," replied Annie, "whether it is an order or not; I"m not coming. Say nothing about me, please. I shall stay at home to-night."
"But why? You will only get yourself into trouble, and there is surely no use in that. Oh, Annie, I know you are dreadfully unhappy about something, and I wish I could comfort you. Do-do let me."
Annie Colchester now turned slowly round; she looked fixedly at Leslie.
There was a strained expression in her eyes, as if she did not quite know what she was looking at. Leslie approached her, and touched her hand. It burned as if with fever.
"You are ill," said Leslie. "I ought not to leave you. You ought to lie down and see a doctor. Do let me go and tell Miss Frere. I know your being ill will make all the difference."
Leslie had scarcely finished her sentence before Annie pushed her away.
"How dare you interfere?" she said, her eyes flashing. "You are to go, and say nothing about me. Because you happen to be my roomfellow, are you to control my actions? I am longing for you to leave the room. You don"t know what a trial it is for me to have you here. Why will you keep on prying, and fussing, and interfering. I want to be alone-go!"
"I know you don"t quite mean what you say," said Leslie; "but of course if you really wish me--"
"Before you came I had liberty," interrupted Annie. "You fret me beyond endurance. Since you came I feel myself tied and bound. Yes; you annoy me more than words can tell."
Leslie walked to her own side of the room. She had taken a deep interest in Annie; and Annie"s words cut her to the heart.
"I am quite sure it is because she is so unhappy," she thought. "She does not know what she is saying. I ought not to mind her-I mean I ought not to be really hurt; but there is nothing for it but to leave her for the present."
Wrapping a pretty blue shawl round her head and shoulders, she turned to Annie. "Good-by," she said; "is there not any message you would like me to take, Annie?"
"None; only go!"
Annie stamped with her foot.
Leslie was just closing the door behind her, when Annie called after her.
"By the way," she said; "there is no key in this lock; do you know where it is?"
"I took it out," said Leslie.
"Took it out! And why, may I ask? Have the goodness to find it and put it back."
"But don"t lock me out, please, Annie. You know on occasions you are absent-minded, and one-half of this room is mine when all"s said and done. I pay for it, and I have a right to it."
The unexpected words of spirit caused Annie to become a little less rude.
"Oh, I won"t lock you out," she said; "but I must have the key. Please find it before you go."
Jane Heriot"s voice was heard in the pa.s.sage.
"If you two are ready," she called out, "we may as well start."