Part 73 (2/2)

”Well, I don't mind foregoing the last three or four,” said Valeria.

”But seriously, I think that a home and so forth, is the best that life has to offer to us women. It is, perhaps, not asking much, but I believe if one goes further, one fares worse.”

”We all think the toothache would be so much more bearable, if it were only in the other tooth,” said the Professor.

A silence fell upon the three. Their thoughts were evidently busy.

”I feel sorry,” the Professor said at last, ”that this should be your testimony. It has always seemed to me ridiculous that a woman could not gratify her domestic sentiments, without being claimed by them, body and soul. But I hoped that our more developed women would show us that they could make a full and useful and interesting life for themselves, even if that particular side of existence were denied them. I thought they might forego it for the sake of other things.”

”Not without regretting it.”

”Yet I have met women who held different opinions.”

”Probably rather inexperienced women,” said Valeria.

”Young women, but----”

”Ah, young women. What do _they_ know? The element of real horror in a woman's life does not betray itself, until the moment when the sense of age approaches. Then, and not till then, she knows how much mere superficial and transitory attractions have had to do with making her life liveable and interesting. Then, and not till then, she realizes that she has unconsciously held the position of adventuress in society, getting what she could out of it, by means of personal charm; never resting on established right, for she has none. As a wife, she acquires a sort of reflected right. One must respect her over whom Mr. So-and-So has rights of property. Well, is it not wise to take what one can get--the little glory of being the property of Mr. So-and-So? I have scorned this opportunism all my life, and now I regret having scorned it. And I think, if you could get women to be sincere, they would tell you the same tale.”

”And what do you think of the scheme of life, which almost forces upon our finest women, or tempts them to practise, this sort of opportunism?”

”I think it is simply savage,” answered Valeria.

Again a silence fell on the little group. The spoken words seemed to call up a host of words unspoken. There was to Hadria, a personal as well as a general significance in each sentence, that made her listen breathlessly for the next.

”How would you define a good woman?” she asked.

”Precisely as I would define a good man,” replied the Professor.

”Oh, I think we ask more of the woman,” said Valeria.

”We do indeed!” cried Hadria, with a laugh.

”One may find people with a fussy conscience, a nervous fear of wrong-doing, who are without intelligence and imagination, but you never meet the n.o.blest, and serenest, and largest examples of goodness without these attributes,” said the Professor.

”This is not the current view of goodness in women,” said Hadria.

”Naturally. The less intelligence and imagination the better, if our current morality is to hold its own. We want our women to accept its dogmas without question. We tell them how to be good, and if they don't choose to be good in that way, we call them bad. Nothing could be simpler.”

”I believe,” said Hadria, ”that the women who are called good have much to do with the making of those that are called bad. The two kinds are substance and shadow. We shall never get out of the difficulty till they frankly shake hands, and admit that they are all playing the same game.”

”Oh, they will never do that,” exclaimed Valeria, laughing and shaking her head. ”What madness!”

”Why not? The thing is so obvious. They are like the two sides of a piece of embroidery: one all smooth and fair, the other rough and ugly, showing the tag ends and the fastenings. But since the embroidery is insisted on, I can't see that it is of any moral consequence on which side of the canvas one happens to be.”

”It is chiefly a matter of luck,” said the Professor.

A long shadow fell across Hadria as she spoke, blotting out the little flicker of the sunlight that shone through the stirring leaves.

Professor Theobald had crept up softly across the lawn, and as the chairs were turned towards the flower-borders, he had approached un.o.bserved.

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