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"For eighteen years the man had lived there with this face that he had loved. A faint flush still lingered on the fair cheeks, the laughing lips were still red. Only at one spot, above her temple, the wavy hair lay matted underneath a clot of blood." The Minor Poet ceased. "What a very unpleasant way of preserving one's love!" said the Girton Girl. "When did the story appear?" I asked.
Even the liberal-minded "Punch," about the time Girton College was founded in England, expressed grave doubts whether the harmony of wedded unions would not receive a blow, from the time when wives should be liable to know more Greek than their husbands. Yet the marriage relation has withstood these innovations.
But admitting that Art has been of service to mankind on the whole, that it possesses one-tenth of the soul-forming properties claimed for it in the advertisement which I take to be a generous estimate its effect upon the world at large still remains infinitesimal." "It works down," maintained the Girton Girl. "From the few it spreads to the many."
And lest any lady readers of this volume in the Cape of Good Hope, for example, or the remoter portions of the Australian bush, whither the culture of Girton and the familiar knowledge of the Latin language have not yet penetrated should complain that I speak with unknown tongues, I will further explain for their special benefit that ambidextrous means equally-handed, using the right and the left indiscriminately.
"She was a curious sort of young woman," smiled the Girton Girl; "we used to laugh at her." "I can quite believe it," commented the Philosopher. "It is so like shopping," said the Old Maid. "Like shopping!" exclaimed the Girton Girl. The Old Maid blushed. "I was merely thinking," she said. "It sounds foolish. The idea occurred to me." "You were thinking of the difficulty of choosing?" I suggested.
"It was the Long Vacation before last," said the Girton girl, "and I went on a reading-party to Bantry Bay, with Wyndham and Toole of Somerville, and Clare of Lady Margaret's. Leighton coached us." "Dear me! With all these young men, my dear?" asked the maiden aunt. "They were all women of my year, except Miss Leighton of Newnham, who was our coach," answered the Girton girl composedly. "Dear me!
You see the context was dreadfully vague, a mere fragment." There was a little silence after the Girton girl's story. "I never heard before in my life," said the maiden aunt, at last, "of any host or hostess who took the haunted room themselves, when the house happened to be full.
"I have often observed," she said in a reflective voice, "that the most authentic and best attested bogies don't come to very much. They appear in a desultory manner, without any context, so to speak, and, like other difficulties, require a context to clear up their meaning." These efforts of the Girton girl to apply the methods of philology to spectres, were received in silence.
And when the old nurse went to call her in the morning, she could not waken Miss Patty. She was dead. Heart-disease, they called it. Of course," added the Girton girl, "as I said, it was only a coincidence. But the Irish servants could not be persuaded that Miss Patty had not seen whatever the thing was that they believed to be in the garden tower. I don't know what it was.
It is lamented that the number of really disinterested students attending Girton and Newnham is small; the same complaint is heard from the Halls for women at Oxford; there is a certain want of confidence as to the future and what it is all leading to.
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