ear; another was
"Science" and wore spectacles; a third was "Modern Languages," like the
host, but one and all shared an apparently unlimited appetite for Cocoa,
Conversation, and Chelsea buns, the which they proceeded to enjoy to the
full. "Modern Languages" being in the ascendant, indulged in a little
"shop" as a preliminary, accompanied by the sighs, groans, and
complaints incidental to the subject.

"How's your drama getting on? Is it developing satisfactorily?"
Student Number Two inquired of Darsie, in reference to the paper given
out at the last lecture in Divinity Hall, and Darsie shrugged with a
plaintive air.

"I've been struggling to develop it, to _trace_ its development, as he
said; but the tracings are decidedly dim! I get on much better with a
subject on which I can throw a little imagination. `The growth of the
novel,' for instance--I wove quite a fairy-tale out of that."

The girls smiled, but with a dubious air.

"Better be careful! That's a ruse which most of us have tried in our
day, and come wearily back to sober fact... How do you like the
Historical French Grammar?"

The Fresher made a gesture as if to tear her hair, whereupon the second-
year girls groaned in chorus.

"Hopeless! Piteous! In last year's Tripos the paper was positively
inhuman. The girls said it was impossible even to understand the
questions, much less to answer them."

"Wicked! Waste of time, I call it. Most of us are training to teach,
but it's not one in a hundred who will be called upon to teach _that_
erudite horror."

Darsie looked at Margaret France as she spoke, and saw at once by the
expression of her companions that she had touched on a delicate subject.
There was a moment's silence, then--

"I am not going to teach," said Margaret, smiling.

"Really! Then-- What are you going to do?"

"Live at home."

A future profession seemed so universal a prospect with the Newnham
students that Margaret's reply amazed Darsie as much as it appeared to
annoy her other hearers.

Economics sniffed, and muttered beneath her breath; Science stared
fixedly at the ceiling through her glittering spectacles; Modern
Languages groaned aloud.

"With your brain! With your spirit! After this training! Such wicked
waste..."

Margaret laughed lightly.

"Oh, Darsie Garnett, how mean of you, when I feed you with my best
Chelsea buns, to land me in this time-honoured discussion! I'm an only
child, and my parents ha