Jean Baird - Elizabeth Hobart at Exeter Hall

“Oh, here is Miss Wilson!” Dr. Morgan arose. “Miss Wilson, Miss Hobart will be your roommate. I shall put her in your care.”

The girl extended her hand. She was not nearly so tall as Elizabeth. Her yellow hair without ribbon or comb hung about her ears. She shook her head and flung back her locks like a spirited young horse tossing its mane. Her eyes were brown and dancing and her face was brimming over with fun. Her voice was high pitched and so cheery that her hearers were compelled to believe that she was at that minute having the best time of her life.

“I have been expecting you,” she cried. “I was hoping you would come to-day so that we could get to housekeeping to-morrow, for lessons begin the next day.”

She led the way into the hall. Here she stopped to clap her hands in order to call Jimmy’s attention. “Here, Jimmy, take this lady’s checks and bring her trunks up to No. 10. If they are there before we get back from dinner, Jimmy, there’ll be a piece of cake for you.”

Jimmy grinned and rolled his eyes, then swung himself down the hall in search of the baggage.

Miss Wilson never ceased her chatter as they entered the side hallway and mounted the stairs.

“The students must not use the main stairway, except during commencement week, under penalty of death,” she explained. “That’s reserved for the Fac and other Lord-Highs. Here’s our room – quite close to the stairway. A nuisance, you’ll find it. Every girl on her way up or down will drop in to see us. It won’t be because we’re popular, but one can’t help wanting to rest after climbing stairs, and our chairs are particularly easy.” Her voice, as she talked, had a ring of laughter in it which made Elizabeth feel, for the moment, that having your friends love you for your chairs alone was the greatest fun in the world.

She led the way into their apartment. There was a big sitting-room with wide windows overlooking the campus; an open grate with log and gas fixtures, ready for the cooler days of autumn, filled the space between the two windows. From this room a door led to a bedroom devoid of all furnishing except the simple essentials of a sleeping-place.

Miss Wilson drew forward a chair. “Sit here a moment to rest. Let me put your wraps away. I’ll make a guest of you to-day. It isn’t long until dinner-time. We are expected to change our dresses. But Miss Morgan will excuse you to-day as you have just arrived. I think you will like the girls here.”

She chatted on while Elizabeth rested and prepared for dinner. She looked with admiration upon Elizabeth’s linen frock and long braid of smooth hair. “I like the way you braid your mane,” she laughed, giving a toss of her own. “It’s the style of hair I’ve always coveted. A siege of fever a year ago is responsible for my new crop, short and curly. I look forward to the time when I, too, can appear with dignity and a coil of hair about my head.”

“Do you think you could be dignified then?” asked Elizabeth shyly. She was standing in the middle of the bedroom with towel in hand. At her words Miss Wilson tossed her head.

“I’m afraid you will prove like the other girls here. They can not be brought to realize how much such trifles have to do with one’s manner. Short curls bobbing over one’s shoulders and dignity can never go together. But let me put my hair up high and get on a trained skirt and you will see what you will 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.”