But when Darsie repaired to the seclusion of her study and set herself to the problem of evolving a fancy dress out of an ordinary college outfit, ideas were remarkably slow in coming. She looked questioningly at each piece of drapery in turns, wondered if she could be a ghost in curtains, a statue in sheets, an eastern houri in the cotton quilt, a Portia in the hearthrug, discarded each possibility in turn, and turned her attention to her own wardrobe. Black serge, grey tweed, violet ninon; two evening frocks, and the one white satin which was the _piece de resistance_ of the whole. A cloth coat, a mackintosh, an art serge cloak for evening wear--how _could_ one manufacture a fancy dress from garments so ordinary as these? In despair, Darsie betook herself to Margaret France's room and found that young woman seated before her dressing-table engaged in staring fixedly at her own reflection in the mirror. She betrayed no embarrassment at being discovered in so compromising a position, but smiled a broad smile of welcome out of the mirror, the while she continued to turn and to twist, and hold up a hand-glass to scrutinise more closely unknown aspects of face and head. "I know what you've come for! I've had two Freshers already. Bowled over at the thought of inventing a costume--that's it, isn't it? Oh, you'll rise to it yet. The only difficulty is to hit on an idea--the rest's as easy as pie. That's what I'm doing now--studying my phiz to see what it suggests. My nose, now! What d'you think of my nose? Seems to me that nose wasn't given me for nothing. _And_ the width between the eyes! It's borne in upon me that I must be either a turnip lantern or a Dutch doll. The doll would probably be the most becoming, so I'll plump for that. Don't breathe a word, for it must be a secret to the last. As for you--it would be easy to suggest a dozen pretty- pretties."