The Odd Women Part 34

'That is confusing the point at issue,' Rhoda exclaimed irritably.

'Have I ever denied the force of such feelings? My grief would have blinded me to all larger considerations, of course. But she was happily _not_ my sister, and I remained free to speak the simple truth about her case. It isn't personal feeling that directs a great movement in civilization. If you were right, I also was right. You should have recognized the inevitable discord of our Opinions at that moment.'

'It didn't seem to me inevitable.'

'I should have despised myself if I could have affected sympathy.'

'Affected--yes.'

'Or have really felt it. That would have meant that I did not know myself. I should never again have dared to speak on any grave subject.'

Miss Barfoot smiled sadly.

'How young you are! Oh, there is far more than ten years between our ages, Rhoda! In spirit you are a young girl, and I an old woman. No, no; we _will not_ quarrel. Your companionship is far too precious to me, and I dare to think that mine is not without value for you. Wait till my grief has had its course; then I shall be more reasonable and do you more justice.'

Rhoda turned towards the door, lingered, but without looking back, and so left the room.

Miss Barfoot was absent as she had announced, returning only in time for her duties in Great Portland Street on Monday morning. She and Rhoda then shook hands, but without a word of personal reference. They went through the day's work as usual.

This was the day of the month on which Miss Barfoot would deliver her four o'clock address. The subject had been announced a week ago: 'Woman as an Invader.' An hour earlier than usual work was put aside, and seats were rapidly arranged for the small audience; it numbered only thirteen--the girls already on the premises and a few who came specially. All were aware of the tragedy in which Miss Barfoot had recently been concerned; her air of sadness, so great a contrast to that with which she was wont to address them, they naturally attributed to this cause.

As always, she began in the simplest conversational tone. Not long since she had received an anonymous letter, written by some clerk out of employment, abusing her roundly for her encouragement of female compet.i.tion in the clerkly world. The taste of this epistle was as bad as its grammar, but they should hear it; she read it all through. Now, whoever the writer might be, it seemed pretty clear that he was not the kind of person with whom one could profitably argue; no use in replying to him, even had he given the opportunity. For all that, his uncivil attack had a meaning, and there were plenty of people ready to urge his argument in more respectable terms. 'They will tell you that, in entering the commercial world, you not only uns.e.x yourselves, but do a grievous wrong to the numberless men struggling hard for bare sustenance. You reduce salaries, you press into an already overcrowded field, you injure even your own s.e.x by making it impossible for men to marry, who, if they earned enough, would be supporting a wife.' To-day, continued Miss Barfoot, it was not her purpose to debate the economic aspects of the question. She would consider it from another point of view, repeating, perhaps, much that she had already said to them on other occasions, but doing so because these thoughts had just now very strong possession of her mind.

This abusive correspondent, who declared that he was supplanted by a young woman who did his work for smaller payment, doubtless had a grievance. But, in the miserable disorder of our social state, one grievance had to be weighed against another, and Miss Barfoot held that there was much more to be urged on behalf of women who invaded what had been exclusively the men's sphere, than on behalf of the men who began to complain of this invasion.

'They point to half a dozen occupations which are deemed strictly suitable for women. Why don't we confine ourselves to this ground? Why don't I encourage girls to become governesses, hospital nurses, and so on? You think I ought to reply that already there are too many applicants for such places. It would be true, but I don't care to make use of the argument, which at once involves us in a debate with the out-crowded clerk. No; to put the truth in a few words, I am not chiefly anxious that you should _earn money_, but that women in general shall become _rational and responsible human beings_.

'Follow me carefully. A governess, a nurse, may be the most admirable of women. I will dissuade no one from following those careers who is distinctly fitted for them. But these are only a few out of the vast number of girls who must, if they are not to be despicable persons, somehow find serious work. Because I myself have had an education in clerkship, and have most capacity for such employment, I look about for girls of like mind, and do my best to prepare them for work in offices.

And (here I must become emphatic once more) I am _glad_ to have entered on this course. I am _glad_ that I can show girls the way to a career which my opponents call unwomanly.

'Now see why. Womanly and womanish are two very different words; but the latter, as the world uses it, has become practically synonymous with the former. A womanly occupation means, practically, an occupation that a man disdains. And here is the root of the matter. I repeat that I am not first of all anxious to keep you supplied with daily bread. I am a troublesome, aggressive, revolutionary person. I want to do away with that common confusion of the words womanly and womanish, and I see very clearly that this can only be effected by an armed movement, an invasion by women of the spheres which men have always forbidden us to enter. I am strenuously opposed to that view of us set forth in such charming language by Mr. Ruskin--for it tells on the side of those men who think and speak of us in a way the reverse of charming. Were we living in an ideal world, I think women would not go to sit all day in offices. But the fact is that we live in a world as far from ideal as can be conceived. We live in a time of warfare, of revolt. If woman is no longer to be womanish, but a human being of powers and responsibilities, she must become militant, defiant. She must push her claims to the extremity.

'An excellent governess, a perfect hospital nurse, do work which is invaluable; but for our cause of emanc.i.p.ation they are no good--nay, they are harmful. Men point to them, and say, Imitate these, keep to your proper world. Our proper world is the world of intelligence, of honest effort, of moral strength. The old types of womanly perfection are no longer helpful to us. Like the Church service, which to all but one person in a thousand has become meaningless gabble by dint of repet.i.tion, these types have lost their effect. They are no longer educational. We have to ask ourselves, What course of training will wake women up, make them conscious of their souls, startle them into healthy activity?

'It must be something new, something free from the reproach of womanliness. I don't care whether we crowd out the men or not. I don't care _what_ results, if only women are made strong and self-reliant and n.o.bly independent! The world must look to its concerns. Most likely we shall have a revolution in the social order greater than any that yet seems possible. Let it come, and let us help its coming. When I think of the contemptible wretchedness of women enslaved by custom, by their weakness, by their desires, I am ready to cry, Let the world perish in tumult rather than things go on in this way!'

For a moment her voice failed. There were tears in her eyes. The hearers, most of them, understood what made her so pa.s.sionate; they exchanged grave looks.

'Our abusive correspondent shall do as best he can. He suffers for the folly of men in all ages. We can't help it. It is very far from our wish to cause hardship to any one, but we ourselves are escaping from a hardship that has become intolerable. We are educating ourselves. There must be a new type of woman, active in every sphere of life: a new worker out in the world, a new ruler of the home. Of the old ideal virtues we can retain many, but we have to add to them those which have been thought appropriate only in men. Let a woman be gentle, but at the same time let her be strong; let her be pure of heart, but none the less wise and instructed. Because we have to set an example to the sleepy of our s.e.x, we must carry on an active warfare--must be invaders. Whether woman is the equal of man I neither know nor care. We are not his equal in size, in weight, in muscle, and, for all I can say, we may have less power of brain. That has nothing to do with it.

Enough for us to know that our natural growth has been stunted. The ma.s.s of women have always been paltry creatures, and their paltriness has proved a curse to men. So, if you like to put it in this way, we are working for the advantage of men as well as for our own. Let the responsibility for disorder rest on those who have made us despise our old selves. At any cost--at any cost--we will free ourselves from the heritage of weakness and contempt!'

The a.s.sembly was longer than usual in dispersing. When all were gone, Miss Barfoot listened for a footstep in the other room. As she could detect no sound, she went to see if Rhoda was there or not.

Yes; Rhoda was sitting in a thoughtful att.i.tude. She looked up, smiled, and came a few paces forward.

'It was very good.'

'I thought it would please you.'

Miss Barfoot drew nearer, and added,--

'It was addressed to you. It seemed to me that you had forgotten how I really thought about these things.'

'I have been ill-tempered,' Rhoda replied. 'Obstinacy is one of my faults.'

'It is.'

Their eyes met.

'I believe,' continued Rhoda, 'that I ought to ask your pardon. Right or wrong, I behaved in an unmannerly way.'

'Yes, I think you did.'

Rhoda smiled, bending her head to the rebuke.

'And there's the last of it,' added Miss Barfoot. 'Let us kiss and be friends.'

CHAPTER XIV

MOTIVES MEETING

When Barfoot made his next evening call Rhoda did not appear. He sat for some time in pleasant talk with his cousin, no reference whatever being made to Miss Nunn; then at length, beginning to fear that he would not see her, he inquired after her health. Miss Nunn was very well, answered the hostess, smiling.

'Not at home this evening?'

'Busy with some kind of study, I think.'

Plainly, the difference between these women had come to a happy end, as Barfoot foresaw that it would. He thought it better to make no mention of his meeting with Rhoda in the gardens.

'That was a very unpleasant affair that I saw your name connected with last week,' he said presently.

'It made me very miserable--ill indeed for a day or two.'

'That was why you couldn't see me?'

'Yes.'

'But in your reply to my note you made no mention of the circ.u.mstances.'

Miss Barfoot kept silence; frowning slightly, she looked at the fire near which they were both sitting, for the weather had become very cold.

'No doubt,' pursued Everard, glancing at her, 'you refrained out of delicacy--on my account, I mean.'

'Need we talk of it?'