The Odd Women Part 25

Home work will be their serious business, instead of a disagreeable drudgery, or a way of getting through the time till marriage offers. I would have no girl, however wealthy her parent, grow up without a profession. There should be no such thing as a cla.s.s of females vulgarized by the necessity of finding daily amus.e.m.e.nt.'

'Nor of males either, of course,' put in Everard, stroking his beard.

'Nor of males either, cousin Everard.'

'You thoroughly approve all this, Miss Nunn?'

'Oh yes. But I go further. I would have girls taught that marriage is a thing to be avoided rather than hoped for. I would teach them that for the majority of women marriage means disgrace.'

'Ah! Now do let me understand you. Why does it mean disgrace?'

'Because the majority of men are without sense of honour. To be bound to them in wedlock is shame and misery.'

Everard's eyelids drooped, and he did not speak for a moment.

'And you seriously think, Miss Nunn, that by persuading as many woman as possible to abstain from marriage you will improve the character of men?'

'I have no hope of sudden results, Mr. Barfoot. I should like to save as many as possible of the women now living from a life of dishonour; but the spirit of our work looks to the future. When _all_ women, high and low alike, are trained to self-respect, then men will regard them in a different light, and marriage may be honourable to both.'

Again Everard was silent, and seemingly impressed.

'We'll go on with this discussion another time,' said Miss Barfoot, with cheerful interruption. 'Everard, do you know Somerset at all?'

'Never was in that part of England.'

'Miss Nunn is going to take her holiday at Cheddar and we have been looking over some photographs of that district taken by her brother.'

From the table she reached a sc.r.a.pbook, and Everard turned it over with interest. The views were evidently made by an amateur, but in general had no serious faults. Cheddar cliffs were represented in several aspects.

'I had no idea the scenery was so fine. Cheddar cheese has quite overshadowed the hills in my imagination. This might be a bit of c.u.mberland, or of the Highlands.'

'It was my playground when I was a child,' said Rhoda.

'You were born at Cheddar?'

'No; at Axbridge, a little place not far off. But I had an uncle at Cheddar, a farmer, and very often stayed with him. My brother is farming there now.'

'Axbridge? Here is a view of the market-place. What a delightful old town!'

'One of the sleepiest spots in England, I should say. The railway goes through it now, but hasn't made the slightest difference. n.o.body pulls down or builds; n.o.body opens a new shop; n.o.body thinks of extending his trade. A delicious place!'

'But surely you find no pleasure in that kind of thing, Miss Nunn?'

'Oh yes--at holiday time. I shall doze there for a fortnight, and forget all about the "so-called nineteenth century."'

'I can hardly believe it. There will be a disgraceful marriage at this beautiful old church, and the sight of it will exasperate you.'

Rhoda laughed gaily.

'Oh, it will be a marriage of the golden age! Perhaps I shall remember the bride when she was a little girl; and I shall give her a kiss, and pat her on the rosy cheek, and wish her joy. And the bridegroom will be such a good-hearted simpleton, unable to p.r.o.nounce _f_ and _s_. I don't mind that sort of marriage a bit!'

The listeners were both regarding her--Miss Barfoot with an affectionate smile, Everard with a puzzled, searching look, ending in amus.e.m.e.nt.

'I must run down into that country some day,' said the latter.

He did not stay much longer, but left only because he feared to burden the ladies with too much of his company.

Again a week pa.s.sed, and the same evening found Barfoot approaching the house in Queen's Road. To his great annoyance he learnt that Miss Barfoot was not at home; she had dined, but afterwards had gone out. He did not venture to ask for Miss Nunn, and was moving disappointedly away, when Rhoda herself, returning from a walk, came up to the door.

She offered her hand gravely, but with friendliness.

'Miss Barfoot, I am sorry to say, has gone to visit one of our girls who is ill. But I think she will very soon be back. Will you come in?'

'Gladly. I had so counted on an hour's talk.'

Rhoda led him to the drawing-room, excused herself for a few moments, and came back in her ordinary evening dress. Barfoot noticed that her hair was much more becomingly arranged than when he first saw her; so it had been on the last occasion, but for some reason its appearance attracted his eyes this evening. He scrutinized her, at discreet intervals, from head to foot. To Everard, nothing female was alien; woman, merely as woman, interested him profoundly. And this example of her s.e.x had excited his curiosity in no common degree. His concern with her was purely intellectual; she had no sensual attraction for him, but he longed to see further into her mind, to probe the sincerity of the motives she professed, to understand her mechanism, her process of growth. Hitherto he had enjoyed no opportunity of studying this type.

For his cousin was a very different person; by habit he regarded her as old, whereas Miss Nunn, in spite of her thirty years, could not possibly be considered past youth.

He enjoyed her air of equality; she sat down with him as a male acquaintance might have done, and he felt sure that her behaviour would be the same under any circ.u.mstances. He delighted in the frankness of her speech; it was doubtful whether she regarded any subject as improper for discussion between mature and serious people. Part cause of this, perhaps, was her calm consciousness that she had not a beautiful face. No, it was not beautiful; yet even at the first meeting it did not repel him. Studying her features, he saw how fine was their expression. The prominent forehead, with its little unevenness that meant brains; the straight eyebrows, strongly marked, with deep vertical furrows generally drawn between them; the chestnut-brown eyes, with long lashes; the high-bridged nose, thin and delicate; the intellectual lips, a protrusion of the lower one, though very slight, marking itself when he caught her profile; the big, strong chin; the shapely neck--why, after all, it was a kind of beauty. The head might have been sculptured with fine effect. And she had a well-built frame.

He observed her strong wrists, with exquisite vein-tracings on the pure white. Probably her const.i.tution was very sound; she had good teeth, and a healthy brownish complexion.

With reference to the sick girl whom Miss Barfoot was visiting, Everard began what was practically a resumption of their last talk.

'Have you a formal society, with rules and so on?'

'Oh no; nothing of the kind.'

'But you of course select the girls whom you instruct or employ?'

'Very carefully.'

'How I should like to see them all!--I mean,' he added, with a laugh, 'it would be so very interesting. The truth is, my sympathies are strongly with you in much of what you said the other day about women and marriage. We regard the matter from different points of view, but our ends are the same.'

Rhoda moved her eyebrows, and asked calmly,--

'Are you serious?'

'Perfectly. You are absorbed in your present work, that of strengthening women's minds and character; for the final issue of this you can't care much. But to me that is the practical interest. In my mind, you are working for the happiness of men.'

'Indeed?' escaped Rhoda's lips, which had curled in irony.

'Don't misunderstand me. I am not speaking cynically or trivially. The gain of women is also the gain of men. You are bitter against the average man for his low morality; but that fault, on the whole, is directly traceable to the ign.o.bleness of women. Think, and you will grant me this.'

'I see what you mean. Men have themselves to thank for it.'

'a.s.suredly they have. I say that I am on your side. Our civilization in this point has always been absurdly defective. Men have kept women at a barbarous stage of development, and then complain that they are barbarous. In the same way society does its best to create a criminal cla.s.s, and then rages against the criminals. But, you see, I am one of the men, and an impatient one too. The ma.s.s of women I see about me are so contemptible that, in my haste, I use unjust language. Put yourself in the man's place. Say that there are a million or so of us very intelligent and highly educated. Well, the women of corresponding mind number perhaps a few thousands. The vast majority of men must make a marriage that is doomed to be a dismal failure. We fall in love it is true; but do we really deceive ourselves about the future? A very young man may; why, we know of very young men who are so frantic as to marry girls of the working cla.s.s--mere lumps of human flesh. But most of us know that our marriage is a _pis aller_. At first we are sad about it; then we grow cynical, and snap our fingers at moral obligation.'

'Making a bad case very much worse, instead of bravely bettering it.'

'Yes, but human nature is human nature. I am only urging to you the case of average intelligent men. As likely as not--so preposterous are our conventions--you have never heard it put honestly. I tell you the simple truth when I say that more than half these men regard their wives with active disgust. They will do anything to be relieved of the sight of them for as many hours as possible at a time. If circ.u.mstances allowed, wives would be abandoned very often indeed.'