And now it was the Lent term; eight months had passed by since the date of Ralph's death, and it surely behoved Darsie to rise above her depression, and to throw herself once more into the full, happy life of the house. She was thankful to do it, thankful to welcome dawnings of the old zest, to feel her feet involuntarily quicken to a dance, to discover herself singing as she moved to and fro. The winter had passed; spring was in the air. It seemed right that it should be in her heart also. As usual in the Lent term, hockey was the one absorbing subject outside "shop," and Hannah Vernon, now advanced to the lofty position of captain, had special reasons for welcoming her friend's reviving spirits. One chilly day in February she entered Darsie's study with a somewhat unusual request. "The girls are getting restive, and think that it's quite time we had another fancy match. They want me to arrange one on the spot. It's so blighting to be told that one is so clever, and looked to for inspiration. Every idea forsakes one on the instant. You've been hibernating for an age, you ought to have lots stored up!" "I haven't--I've grown hideously dull. What did we have last?" "Thicks against Thins! Never shall I forget it! To play forward padded with three separate cushions, and with shawls wound round your limbs, is the sort of thing one rises to _once_ in a lifetime, but never twice. I made an adorable fat woman! The Thins had no spirit left in them when they beheld my bulk. I vote that we don't have anything that involves padding this time. One never knows one's luck." "No-o! I think we might hit on something more subtle," Darsie ruminated, with her eyes on the ceiling. Her reputation of being the Newnham belle remained unchallenged after two separate incursions of Freshers. As she sat before a "burry," clad in a blue, pinafore-like garment, from which emerged white silk sleeves to match the collar and yoke, her hand absently turning over a pile of notebooks, bound in green and blue and rose, she made a striking contrast to Hannah Vernon in a cinnamon coat and skirt, built for wear by a cheap tailor on the principle of "there or thereabouts." Even the notebooks reflected the personality of their owners, for the one which Hannah carried was of the shiny black persuasion which seemed to proclaim that, being made for good solid work, it disdained the affectation of beauty. Plain Hannah's little eyes twinkled affectionately at her old friend. She detached a pencil from a chain which dangled by her side, and said tentatively-- "Subtle--yes! Good biz! Let's have a Subtler by all means." "I--was thinking--we might have something touching upon future possibilities. I've not quite got it yet, but something about brides and spinsters. Future brides--budding brides--beautiful brides." "Easy enough to have adjectives for the brides. Where do the spinsters come in?"