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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/oddwomen01giss 
 
THE ODD WOMEN 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
THE ODD WOMEN 
 
 GEOEGE GISSING- 
 
 Autlior of ''New Grub Street," ''Demos," etc. 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON 
 
 LAWEENCE & BULLEN 
 
 16 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. 
 1893 
 
LONDON : 
 
 HENDERSON AND SPALDING, LIMITED, 
 
 MARYLEBONE LANE, W. 
 
d, H-icr 
 
 ,^ CONTENTS 
 
 '^ CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^ PAGE 
 
 The Fold AND THE Shepherd 1 
 
 4 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Adrift 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 XAn Independent Woman 53 
 
 ]> CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Monica's Majority 67 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The Casual Acquaintance 105 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 A Camp OF the Reserve 138 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 ^>A Social Advance 173 
 
 -^ CHAPTER VIII. 
 ^ Cousin Everard 213 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 ):^ The Simple Faith 247 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 First Principles 257 
 
 5 
 
 4 
 
THE ODD WOMEN 
 
 THE FOLD AND THE SHEPHERD. 
 
 " So to-morrow, Alice," said Dr. Madden, 
 as he walked with his eldest daiuditer on 
 the coast-downs by Clevedon, " I shall take 
 steps for insuring my life for a thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 It was the outcome of a lono- and inti- 
 
 o 
 
 mate conversation. Alice Madden, asfed 
 nineteen, a plain, shy, gentle-mannered girl, 
 short of stature, and in movement some- 
 thing less than graceful, wore a pleased look 
 as she glanced at her father's face and then 
 turned her eyes across the blue channel to 
 the Welsh lulls. She was flattered by the 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 confidence reposed in her. for Dr. Madden, 
 reticent by nature, had never been known 
 to speak in the domestic circle about his 
 pecuniary affairs. He seemed to be the 
 kind of man who would inspire his children 
 with affection : grave but benign, amiably 
 diffident, with a hint of lurking mirthful- 
 ness about his eyes and lips. And to-day 
 he was in the best of humours ; profes- 
 sional prospects, as he had just explained 
 to Alice, were more encouraging than 
 hitherto ; for twenty years he had prac- 
 tised medicine at Clevedon, but with such 
 trifling emolument that the needs of his 
 large family left him scarce a margin over 
 expenditure ; now, at the age of forty-nine 
 — it was 1872 — he looked forward with a 
 larger hope. Might he not reasonably 
 count on ten or fifteen more years of 
 activity ? Clevedon was growing in repute 
 as a seaside resort ; new houses were 
 rising ; assuredly his practice would con- 
 tinue to extend. 
 
THE FOLD AND THE STTEPTIETID. 6 
 
 " I don't think girls ought to })e troubled 
 about this kind of thing," he added apolo- 
 getically. " Let men grapple with the 
 world ; for, as the old hymn says, ' 'tis 
 their nature to.' I should grieve indeed 
 if I thought my girls would ever have to 
 distress themselves about money matters. 
 But I find I have got into the habit, Alice, 
 of talking to you very much as I should 
 talk with your dear mother, if she were 
 with us." 
 
 Mrs. Madden, having given birth to six 
 daughters, had fulfilled her function in this 
 wonderful world ; for two years she had 
 been resting in the old churchyard that 
 looks upon the Severn sea. Father and 
 daughter sighed as they recalled her 
 memory. A sweet, calm, unpretending 
 woman ; admirable in the domesticities ; 
 in speech and thought distinguished by 
 a native refinement, which in the most 
 fastidious eyes would have established her 
 claim to the title of lady. She had known 
 
 B 2 
 
4 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 but little repose, and secret anxieties told 
 upon her countenance long before the final 
 collapse of health. 
 
 " And yet," pursued the doctor — Doctor 
 only by courtesy — when he had stooped to 
 pluck and examine a flower, " I made a 
 point of never discussing these matters 
 with her. As no doubt you guess, life has 
 been rather an up-hill journey with us. 
 But the home must be guarded against 
 sordid cares to the last possible moment ; 
 nothing upsets me more than the sight of 
 those poor homes where wife and children 
 are obliged to talk from morning to night 
 of how the sorry earnings shall be laid out. 
 — No, no ; women, old or young, should 
 never have to think about money." 
 
 The magnificent summer sunshine, and 
 the western breeze that tasted of ocean, 
 heightened his natural cheeriness. Dr. 
 Madden fell into a familiar strain of 
 prescience. 
 
 ^' There will come a day, Alice, when 
 
THE FOLD AND THE SHEPHERD. 5 
 
 neither man nor woman is troul^led with 
 such sordid care. Not yet awhile ; no, no ; 
 but the day will come. Human beings are 
 not destined to struggle for ever like 
 beasts of prey. Give them time ; let civili- 
 zation grow. You know what our poet 
 says : ' There the common sense of most 
 shall hold a fretful realm in awe ' " 
 
 He quoted the couplet with a subdued 
 fervour which characterized the man and 
 explained his worldly lot. Elkanah Madden 
 should never have entered the medical 
 profession ; mere humanitarian ism had 
 prompted the choice in his dreamy youth ; 
 he became an empiric, nothing more. 
 *' Our poet," said the doctor ; Clevedon 
 was chiefly interesting to him for its 
 literary associations. Tennyson he wor- 
 shipped ; he never passed Coleridge's 
 cottage without bowing in spirit. From 
 the contact of coarse actualities his nature 
 shrank. 
 
 When he and Alice returned from their 
 
THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 walk it was the hour of family tea. A 
 guest was present this afternoon; the eight 
 persons who sat down to table were as 
 many as the little parlour could comfortably 
 contain. Of the sisters, next in age to 
 Alice came Virginia, a pretty but delicate 
 girl of seventeen. Gertrude, Martha, and 
 Isabel, ranging from fourteen to ten, had 
 no physical charm but that of youthful- 
 ness ; Isabel surpassed her eldest sister 
 in downright plainness of feature. The 
 youngest, Monica, was a bonny little 
 maiden only just five years old, dark and 
 bright-eyed. 
 
 The parents had omitted no care in 
 shepherding their fold. Partly at home, 
 and partly in local schools, the young 
 ladies had received instruction suitable to 
 their breeding, and the elder ones were 
 disposed to better this education by 
 private study. The atmosphere of the 
 house was intellectual ; books, especially 
 the poets, lay in every room. But it never 
 
THE FOLD AND THE SHErilKin). 7 
 
 occurred to Dr. Madden that liis dauirliters 
 would do well to study with a professional 
 object. In hours of melancholy he had of 
 course dreaded the risks of life, and re- 
 solved, always with postponement, to make 
 some practical provision for his family ; in 
 educating them as well as circumstances 
 allowed, he conceived that he was doing 
 the next best thing to saving money, for, 
 if a fatality befell, teaching would always 
 be their resource. The thought, however, 
 of his girls having to work for money was 
 so utterly repulsive to him that he could 
 never seriously dwell upon it. A vague 
 piety supported his courage. Providence 
 would not deal harshly with him and his 
 dear ones. He enjoyed excellent health ; 
 his practice decidedly improved. The one 
 duty clearly before him was to set an 
 example of righteous life, and to develop 
 the girls' minds — in every proper direction. 
 For, as to training them for any path save 
 those trodden by English ladies of the 
 
8 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 familiar type, he could not have dreamt of 
 any such thing. Dr. Maddens hopes for 
 the race were inseparable from a main- 
 tenance of morals and conventions such as 
 the average man assumes in his estimate 
 of woman. 
 
 The guest at table was a young girl 
 named Rhoda Nunn. Tall, thin, eager- 
 looking, but with promise of bodily vigour, 
 she was singled at a glace as no member of 
 the Madden family. Her immaturity (but 
 fifteen, she looked two years older) ap- 
 peared in nervous restlessness, and in her 
 manner of speaking, childish at times in 
 the hustling of inconsequent thoughts, yet 
 striving to imitate the talk of her seniors. 
 She had a good head, in both senses of the 
 phrase ; might or might not develop a 
 certain beauty, but would assuredly put 
 forth the fruits of intellect. Her mother, 
 an invalid, was spending the summer 
 months at Clevedon, with Dr. Madden for 
 medical adviser, and in this way the girl 
 
THE FOLD AND THE SHEPHERD. 9 
 
 became friendly witli the Madden house- 
 hold. Its younger members she treated 
 rather condescendingly ; childish things 
 she had long ago put away, and her sole 
 pleasure was in intellectual talk. With a 
 frankness peculiar to her, indicative of 
 pride. Miss Nunn let it be known that she 
 would have to earn her living, probably as 
 a school-teacher ; study for examinations 
 occupied most of her day, and her hours of 
 leisure were frequently spent either at the 
 Maddens or witli a family named Smithson, 
 people, these latter, for whom she had 
 a profound and somewhat mysterious ad- 
 miration. Mr. Smithson, a widower with 
 a consumptive daughter, was a harsh- 
 featured, rough-voiced man of about five- 
 and-thirty, secretly niuch disliked by Dr. 
 Madden because of his aggressive radi 
 calism ; if woman's observation could be 
 trusted, Rhoda Nunn had simply fallen in 
 love with him, had made him, perhaps 
 unconsciously, the object of her earliest 
 
10 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 passion. Alice and Virginia commented 
 on the fact in their private colloquy with 
 a shame-faced amusement ; they feared 
 that it spoke ill for the young lady's 
 breeding. None the less they thought 
 Rhoda a remarkable person, and listened 
 to her utterances respectfully. 
 
 " And what is your latest paradox, Miss 
 Nunn ? " inquired the doctor, with grave 
 facetiousness, when he had looked round 
 the young faces at his board. 
 
 " Really, I forget, doctor. — Oh, but I 
 wanted to ask you : do you think women 
 ought to sit in Parliament ? " 
 
 " Why, no," was the response, as if after 
 due consideration. " If they are there at 
 all they ought to stand." 
 
 '' Oh, I can t get you to talk seriously," 
 rejoined Rhoda, with an air of vexation, 
 whilst the others were good-naturedly 
 laughing. " Mr. Smithson thinks there 
 ought to be female members of Parlia- 
 ment." 
 
THE FOLD AND THE SHEPHERD. 11 
 
 *' Does he ? — Have the ^iv\s told you 
 that there's a nightingale in Mr. Williams's 
 orchard 1 " 
 
 It was always thus. Dr. Madden did 
 not care to discuss even playfully the 
 radical notions which Khoda o'ot from her 
 objectionable friend. His daughters would 
 not have ventured to express an opinion 
 on such topics when he was present ; apart 
 with Miss Nunn, they betrayed a timid 
 interest in whatever proposition she ad- 
 vanced, but no gleam of originality distin- 
 guished their arguments. 
 
 After tea the little company fell into 
 groups, some out of doors beneath the 
 apple-trees, others near the piano at which 
 Virginia was playing Mendelssohn. Monica 
 ran about among them with her five-year- 
 old prattle, ever watched by her father, 
 who lounofed in a canvas chair a^^ainst the 
 sunny ivied wall, pipe in mouth. Dr. 
 Madden was thinking how happy they 
 made him, these kind, gentle girls ; how his 
 
12 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 love for them seemed to ripen witli every 
 summer ; what a dehghtful old-age his 
 would be, when some were married and 
 had children of their own, and the others 
 tended him, they whom he had tended. 
 Virginia would probably be sought in 
 marriage ; she had good looks, a graceful 
 demeanour, a bright understanding. Ger- 
 trude also, perhaps. And little Monica — 
 ah, little Monica ! she would be the beauty 
 of the family. When Monica had grown 
 up it would be time for him to retire from 
 practice ; by then he would doubtless have 
 saved money. 
 
 He must find more society for them ; 
 they had always been too much alone, 
 whence their shyness among strangers. 
 If their mother had but lived ! 
 
 "Rhoda wishes you to read us some- 
 thing, father," said his eldest girl, who 
 had approached whilst he was lost in 
 dream. 
 
THE FOLD AND THE SHEPHERD. 13 
 
 He often read iiloud to them, from the 
 poets ; Coleridge and Tennyson by pre- 
 ference. Little persuasion was needed ; 
 Alice brouofht the volume, and he selected 
 " The Lotos-Eaters." The girls grouped 
 themselves about him, delighted to listen. 
 Many an hour of summer evening had they 
 thus spent, none more peaceful than the 
 present. The reader's cadenced voice 
 blended with the song of a thrush. 
 
 ** ' Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, 
 And in a little while our lips are dumb. 
 Let us alone. What is it that will last ? 
 All things are taken from us 
 
 There came an interruption, hurried, 
 peremptory. A farmer over at Kingston 
 Seymour had been seized with alarming 
 illness ; the doctor must come at once. 
 
 " Very sorry, girls. — Tell James to put 
 the horse in, sharp as he can." 
 
 Li ten minutes Dr. Madden was drivini-- 
 
14 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 at full speed, alone in his dog- cart, towards 
 the scene of duty. 
 
 About seven o'clock Khoda Nunn took 
 leave, remarking with her usual direct- 
 ness, that before going home she would 
 walk along the sea-front in the hope of a 
 meeting with Mr. Smithson and his daugh- 
 ter. Mrs. Nunn was not well enough to 
 leave the house to-day ; but, said Rhoda, 
 the invalid preferred being left alone at 
 such times. 
 
 " Are you sure she prefers it ? " Alice 
 ventured to ask. 
 
 The girl gave her a look of surprise. 
 
 " Why should mother say what she 
 doesn't mean ? " 
 
 It was uttered with an ingenuousness 
 which threw some light on E^hoda's cha- 
 racter. 
 
 By nine o'clock the younger trio of 
 sisters had gone to bed; Alice, Virginia, 
 and Gertrude sat in the parlour, occupied 
 with books, from time to time exchanging 
 
THE FOLD AND THE SHEPHERD. 15 
 
 a quiet remark. A tap at tlie door 
 scarcely drew their attention, for they 
 supposed it was the maid-servant coming 
 to lay supper. But when the door opened 
 there was a mysterious silence ; Alice 
 looked up and saw the expected face, 
 wearing, however, so strange an expression 
 that she rose with sudden fear. 
 
 " Can I speak to you, please. Miss ? " 
 The dialogue out in the passage was 
 brief. A messenger had just arrived with 
 the tidings that Dr. Madden, driving back 
 from Kingston Seymour, had been thrown 
 from his vehicle, and lay insensible at a 
 roadside cottao-e 
 
 For some time the doctor had been 
 intending to buy a new horse ; his faithful 
 old roadster was very weak in the knees. 
 As in other matters, so in this, postpone- 
 ment became fatality ; the horse stumbled 
 and fell, and its driver was flung head 
 forvvard into the road. Some hours later 
 
16 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 they brought hhn to his home, and for 
 a day or two there were hopes that he 
 might rally. But the sufferer's respite 
 only permitted him to dictate and sign 
 a brief will ; this duty performed, Dr. 
 Madden closed his lips for ever. 
 
II. 
 
 ADRIFT. 
 
 Just before Christmas of 1887, a lady 
 past her twenties and with a look of 
 discouraged weariness on her thin face, 
 knocked at a house-door in a little street 
 by Lavender Hill. A card in the window 
 gave notice that a bed-room was here to 
 let. When the door opened and a clean, 
 grave, elderly woman presented herself, 
 the visitor, regarding her anxiously, 
 made known that she was in search of a 
 lodging. 
 
 " It may be for a few weeks only, or it 
 
 may be for a longer period," she said in a 
 
 low, tired voice, with an accent of good 
 
 breeding. " I have a difficulty in find- 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
18 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 ing precisely what I want. One room 
 would be sufficient, and I ask for very 
 little attendance." 
 
 She had but one room to let, replied the 
 other.- It might be inspected. 
 
 They went upstairs. The room was at 
 the back of the house, small, but neatly 
 furnished. Its appearance seemed to gratify 
 the visitor, for she smiled timidly. 
 
 " What rent should you ask ? " 
 
 " That would depend, mum, on what 
 attendance was required,." 
 
 " Yes — of course. I think — will you 
 permit me to sit down ? I am really very 
 tired. Thank you. — I require very little 
 attendance indeed. My Avays are very 
 simple. I should make the bed myself, 
 and — and, do the other little things that 
 are necessary from day to day. Perhaps 
 I might ask you to sweep the room out — 
 once a week or so." 
 
 The landlady grew meditative. Possibly 
 she had, had experience of lodgers who were 
 
ADlill-T. 19 
 
 anxious to give as little trouble as possible. 
 She glanced furtively at the stranger. 
 
 " And what," was her question at 
 length, "would you be thinking of 
 
 Lying 
 
 }} 
 
 " Perhaps I had better explain my 
 position. For several years I have been 
 companion to a lady in Hampshire. Her 
 death has thrown me on my OAvn resources 
 — I hope only for a short time. I have 
 come to London because a younger sister 
 of mine is employed here in a house of 
 business ; she recommended me to seek 
 for lodgings in this part ; I might as well 
 be near her whilst I am endeavourinof to find 
 another post ; perhaps I may be fortunate 
 enough to find one in London. Quietness 
 and economy are necessary to me. A 
 house like yours would suit me very 
 well — very well indeed. Could we not 
 agree upon terms within my — within my 
 power ? " 
 
 Again the landlady pondered. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " Would you be willing to pay five and 
 sixpence ? " 
 
 " Yes, 1 would pay five and sixpence — 
 if you are quite sure that you could let me 
 live in my own way with satisfaction to 
 yourself. I — in fact, I am a vegetarian, 
 and as the meals I take are so very 
 simple, I feel that I might just as well 
 prepare them myself. Would you object 
 to my doing so in this room ? A kettle 
 and a saucepan are really all — absolutely 
 all — that I should need to use. As I 
 shall be much at home, it will be of 
 course necessary for me to have a fire." 
 
 In the course of half an hour an agree- 
 ment had been devised which seemed fairly 
 satisfactory to both parties. 
 
 " I'm not one of the graspin ones," 
 remarked the landlady. '' I think I may 
 say that of myself If I make five or six 
 shillings a week out of my spare room, I 
 don't grumble. But the party as takes 
 it must do their duty on theii' side. 
 
.•\ DRIFT. 21 
 
 You haven't told me your name yet, 
 
 mum." 
 
 " Miss Madden, — My luggage is at the 
 railway station ; it shall be brought here 
 this evening. And, as I am quite un- 
 known to you, I should be glad to pay 
 my rent in advance." 
 
 " Well, I don't ask for that ; but it's 
 just as you like." 
 
 '* Then I will pay you five and sixpence 
 at once. Be so kind as to let me have a 
 receipt." 
 
 So Miss Madden established herself at 
 Lavender Hill, and dwelt there alone for 
 three months. 
 
 She received letters frequently, but only 
 one person called upon her. This was her 
 sister Monica, now serving at a draper's iii 
 Walworth Road. The young lady came 
 every Sunday, and in bad weather spent 
 the whole day up in the little bed-room. 
 Lodger and landlady were on remarkably 
 good terms ; the one paid her dues with 
 
22 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 exactness, and the other did many a httle 
 kindness not bargained for in the origiial 
 contract. 
 
 Time went on to the spring of '88. 
 Then, one afternoon, Miss Madden de- 
 scended to the kitchen and tapped in 
 her usual timid way at the door. 
 
 " Are you at leisure, Mrs. Conisbee ? 
 Could I have a little conversation with 
 you ? " 
 
 The landlady was alone, and with no 
 more engrossing occupation than the iron- 
 ing of some linen she had recently washed. 
 
 " I have mentioned my elder sister now 
 and then, — I am sorry to say she is leaving 
 her post with the family at Hereford. The 
 children are going to school, so that her 
 services are no longer needed." 
 
 " Indeed, mum ? " 
 
 " Yes. For a shorter or longer time she 
 will be in need of a home. Now it has 
 occurred to me, Mrs. Conisbee, that — that 
 I would ask you whether you would have 
 
ADRIFT. 23 
 
 any objection to her sharing my room with 
 me ? — Of course there must be an extra 
 payment. Tlie room is small for two per- 
 sons, l^ut then the arrangement would 
 only be temporary. My sister is a good 
 and experienced teacher, and I am sure 
 she will have no difficulty in obtaining 
 another engagement. 
 
 Mrs. Conisbee reflected, but without a 
 shade of discontent. By this time she 
 knew that her lodger was thoroughly to 
 be trusted. 
 
 " Well, it's if you can manage, mum," 
 she replied. '^ I don't see as I could have 
 any fault to find, if you thought you could 
 both Hve in that little room. And as for 
 the rent, / should be quite satisfied if we 
 said seven shillings instead of Hve and six." 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Conisbee, thank you 
 very much indeed. I will write to my 
 sister at once ; the news will be a irreat 
 relief to her. We shall have quite an 
 enjoyable little holiday together." 
 
24 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 A week later, the eldest of the three 
 Miss Maddens arrived. As it was quite 
 impossible to find space for her boxes in 
 the bed-room, Mrs. Conisbee allowed them 
 to be deposited in the room occupied by 
 her daughter, which was on the same floor. 
 In a day or two the sisters had begun 
 a life of orderly tenor. When weather 
 permitted they were out either in the 
 morning or afternoon. Alice Madden was 
 in London for the first time ; she desired 
 to see the sights, but suffered the restric- 
 tions of poverty and ill-health. After 
 nightfall, neither she nor Virginia ever 
 left home. 
 
 There was not much personal likeDess 
 between them. 
 
 The elder (now five-and-thirty) tended 
 to corpulence, the result of sedentary 
 life ; she had round shoulders and very 
 short legs. Her face would not have been 
 disagreeable but for its spoilt complexion ; 
 the homely features, if health had but 
 
ADRIFT. 25 
 
 rounded and coloured them, would have 
 expressed pleasantly enough the gentle- 
 ness and sincerity of her character. Her 
 cheeks were loose, puffy, and permanently 
 of the hue which is produced by cold ; her 
 forehead generally had a few pimples ; her 
 shapeless chin lost itself in two or three 
 fleshy fissures. Scarcely less shy than in 
 girlhood, she walked with a quick, un- 
 gainly movement as if seeking to escape 
 from some one, her head bent forward. 
 
 Virginia (about thirty-three) had also an 
 unhealthy look, but the poverty, or vitia- 
 tion, of her blood manifested itself in less 
 unsightly forms. One saw that she had 
 been comely, and from certain points of 
 view her countenance still had a grace, a 
 sweetness, all the more noticeable because 
 of its threatened extinction. For she was 
 rapidly ageing ; her lax lips grew laxer, 
 with emphasis of a characteristic one would 
 rather not have perceived there ; her eyes 
 sank into deeper hollows ; wrinkles ex- 
 
26 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 tended their net- work ; the flesh of her 
 neck wore away. Her tall meagre body 
 did not seem strong enough to hold itself 
 upright. 
 
 Alice had brown hair, but very little of 
 it. Virginia's was inclined to be ruddy ; 
 it surmounted her small head in coils and 
 plaits not without beauty. The voice of 
 the elder sister had contracted an un- 
 pleasant hoarseness ; but she spoke with 
 good enunciation ; a slight stiffness and 
 pedantry of phrase came, no doubt, of her 
 scholastic habits. Virginia was much more 
 natural in manner and fluent in speech ; 
 even as she moved far more gracefully. 
 
 It was now sixteen years since the 
 death of Dr. Madden, of Clevedon. The 
 story of his daughters' lives in the interval 
 may be told with brevity suitable to so 
 unexciting a narrative. 
 
 When the doctor's affairs were set in 
 order, it was found that the patrimony of 
 his six girls amounted, as nearly as pos- 
 sible, to eight hundred pounds. 
 
ADRIFT. 27 
 
 Eight hundred pounds is, to be sure, a 
 sum of money, but how, in these circum- 
 stances, was it to be applied ? 
 
 There came over from Cheltenham a 
 bachelor uncle, aged about sixty. This 
 gentleman lived on an annuity of seventy 
 pounds, which would terminate when he 
 did. It might be reckoned to him for 
 righteousness that \\e spent the railway 
 fare between Cheltenham and Clevedon to 
 attend his brother's funeral, and to speak 
 a kind word to his nieces. Influence he 
 had none ; initiative, very little. There 
 was no reckoning upon him for aid of 
 any kind. 
 
 From Richmond in Yorkshire, in reply 
 to a letter from Alice, wrote an old, old 
 aunt of the late Mrs. Madden, who had 
 occasionally sent the girls presents. Her 
 communication was barely legible ; it 
 seemed to contain fortifying texts of 
 Scripture, but nothing in the way of 
 worldly counsel. This old lady had no 
 
28 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 possessions to bequeath. And, as far as 
 the girls knew, she was their mother's only 
 surviving relative. 
 
 The executor of the will was a Clevedon 
 tradesman, a kind and capable friend of the 
 family for many years, a man of parts and 
 attainments superior to his station. In 
 council with certain other well-disposed 
 persons, who regarded the Maddens' circum- 
 stances with friendly anxiety, Mr. Hunger- 
 ford (testamentary instruction allowing 
 him much freedom of action) decided 
 that the three elder girls must forthwith 
 become self-supporting, and that the three 
 younger should live together in the care of 
 a lady of small means, who offered to house 
 and keep them for the bare outlay neces- 
 sitated. A prudent investmert of the 
 eight hundred pounds might, by this 
 arrangement, feed, clothe, and in some 
 sort educate Martha, Isabel, and Monica. 
 To see thus far ahead sufficed for the 
 present; fresh circumstances could be dealt 
 with as they arose. 
 
ADRTFT. 20 
 
 Alice obtained a situation as nursery- 
 governess, at sixteen pounds a year. Vir- 
 ginia was fortunate enough to be accepted 
 as companion by a gentlewoman at Wes- 
 ton-super-Mare ; her payment, twelve 
 pounds. Gertrude, fourteen years old, 
 also went to Weston, where she was 
 offered employment in a fancy-goods 
 shop, — her payment nothing at all, but 
 lodo'intr board and dress assured to her. 
 
 Ten years went by, and saw many 
 changes. 
 
 Gertrude and Martha were dead ; the 
 former of consumption, the other drowned 
 by the over-turning of a pleasure boat. 
 Mr. Hungerford also was dead, and a new 
 ofuardian administered the fund which was 
 still a common property of the four sur- 
 viving daughters. Alice plied her domestic 
 teaching ; Virginia remained a " com- 
 panion." Isabel, now aged twenty, tauglit 
 in a Board School at Bridgwater, and 
 Monica, just fifteen, was on the point of 
 
30 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 being apprenticed to a draper at Weston, 
 where Yiror-inia abode. To serve behind 
 a counter would not have been Monica's 
 choice if any more Hberal employment had 
 seemed within her reach. She had no 
 aptitude whatever for giving instruction ; 
 indeed, had no aptitude for anything but 
 being a pretty, cheerful, engaging girl, 
 much dependent on the love and gentle- 
 ness of those about her. In speech and 
 bearing Monica greatly resembled her 
 mother ; that is to say, she had native 
 elegance. Certainly it might be deemed a 
 pity that such a girl could not be intro- 
 duced to one of the higher walks of life ; 
 but the time had come when she must 
 "do something," and the people to whose 
 guidance she looked had but narrow 
 experience of life. Alice and Virginia 
 sighed over the contrast with by -gone 
 hopes, but their own careers made it seem 
 probable that Monica would be better off 
 " in business " than in a more strictly 
 
ADRIFT. 31 
 
 genteel position. And there was every 
 likelihood that, at such a place as Weston, 
 with her sister for occasional chaperon, she 
 would ere long find herself relieved of the 
 necessity of working for a livelihood. 
 
 To the others, no w^ooer had yet pre- 
 sented himself Alice, if she had ever 
 dreamt of marriage, must by now have 
 resigned herself to spinsterhood. Virginia 
 could scarce hope that her faded prettiness, 
 her health damaged by attendance upon an 
 exacting invalid and in profitless study 
 when she ought to have been sleeping, 
 would attract any man in search of a 
 wafe. Poor Isabel was so extremely plain. 
 Monica, if her promise were fulfilled, would 
 be by far the best looking, as w^ell as the 
 sprightliest, of the family. She must 
 marry ; of course she must marry ! Her 
 sisters gladdened in the thought. 
 
 Isabel was soon worked into illness. 
 Brain trouble came on, resulting in melan- 
 cholia. A charitable institution ultimatelv 
 
32 TKE ODD WOMEN, 
 
 received her, and there, at two-and-twenty, 
 the poor hard-featured girl drowned herself 
 in a bath. 
 
 Their numbers had thus been reduced 
 by half Up to now, the income of their 
 eight hundred pounds had served, im- 
 partially, the ends now of this, now of 
 that one, doing a little good to all, 
 saving them from many an hour of bitter- 
 ness which must else have been added to 
 their lot. By a new arrangement, the 
 capital was at length made over to 
 Alice and Virginia jointly, the youngest 
 sister having a claim upon them to the 
 extent of an annual nine pounds. A 
 trifle, but it would buy her clothing, — 
 and then Monica was sure to marry. 
 Thank heaven, she was sure to marry ! 
 
 Without notable event, matrimonial or 
 other, time went on to this present year 
 of 1888. 
 
 Late in June, Monica would complete 
 her twenty-first year ; the elders, full of 
 
ADRIFT. 33 
 
 affection for the sister, who so notably 
 surpassed them in beauty of person, talked 
 nuic'li about her as the time approached, 
 devising how to procure her a little 
 pleasure on her birthday. Virginia 
 thought a suitable present would be a 
 copy of " The Christian Year." 
 
 " She has really no time for continuous 
 reading. A verse of Keble — -just one verse 
 at bed-time and in the mornincr mio-ht be 
 strength to the poor girl." 
 
 AHce assented. 
 
 '' We must join to buy it, dear," she 
 added, with anxious look. " It wouldn't 
 be justifiable to spend more than two or 
 three shillings." 
 
 " I fear not." 
 
 They were preparing their midday meal, 
 the substantial repast of the day. In a 
 little saucepan on an oil cooking- stove was 
 some plain rice, bubbling as Alice stirred 
 it. Virginia fetched from downstairs (Mrs. 
 Conisbee had assigned to them a shelf in 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 her larder) bread, butter, cheese, a pot of 
 preserve, and arranged the table (three 
 feet by one and a half) at which they were 
 accustomed to eat. The rice being ready, 
 it was turned out in two portions ; made 
 savoury with a little butter, pepper, and 
 salt, it invited them to sit down. 
 
 As they had been out in the morning, 
 the afternoon would be spent in domestic 
 occupations. The low cane-chair Virginia 
 had appropriated to her sister, because of 
 the latter's headaches and back-aches, 
 and other disorders ; she herself sat on 
 an ordinary chair of the bedside species, 
 to which by this time she had become 
 used. Their sewing, when they did any, 
 was strictly indispensable ; if nothing 
 demanded the needle, both preferred a 
 book. Alice, who had never been a 
 student in the proper sense of the word, 
 read for the twentieth time a few volumes 
 in her possession, — poetry, popular history, 
 and half-a-dozen novels such as the averaofe 
 
ADRIFT. 35 
 
 mother of child reii would have approved in 
 the governess's hands. With Virginia the 
 case was somewhat different. Up to about 
 lier twenty-fourth year she had pursued 
 one subject with a zeal limited only by 
 her opportunities ; study absolutely dis- 
 interested, seeing that she had never 
 supposed it would increase her value as 
 a " companion," or enable her to take any 
 better position. Her one intellectual 
 desire was to know as much as possible 
 about ecclesiastical history. Not in a 
 spirit of fanaticism ; she was devout, but 
 in moderation, and never spoke bitterly 
 on religious topics. The growth of the 
 Christian church, old sects and schisms, 
 the Councils, affairs of Papal policy — these 
 things had a very genuine interest for her; 
 circumstances favouring, she might have 
 become an erudite woman. But the condi- 
 tions were so far from favourable that all 
 she succeeded in doing was to undermine 
 her health. Upon a sudden breakdown 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 there followed mental lassitude from which 
 she never recovered. It being subsequently 
 her duty to read novels aloud for the lady 
 whom she " companioned," new novels at 
 the rate of a volume a day, she lost all 
 power of giving her mind to anything 
 but the feebler fiction. Nowadays she 
 procured such works from a lending 
 library, on a subscription of a shilling a 
 month. Ashamed at first to indulge this 
 taste before Alice, she tried more solid 
 literature, but this either sent her to sleep 
 or induced headache. The feeble novels 
 reappeared, and as Alice made no adverse 
 comment, they soon came and went with 
 the old regularity. 
 
 This afternoon, the sisters were dis- 
 posed for conversation. The same grave 
 thought pre-occupied both of them, and 
 they soon made it their subject. 
 
 " Surely," Alice began by murmuring, 
 half-absently, " I shall soon hear of some- 
 thing." 
 
ADRIFT. 37 
 
 " I am dreadfully uneasy on my own 
 account," her sister replied. 
 
 "You think the person at Southend 
 won't write again ? " 
 
 "I'm afraid not. — And she seemed so' 
 vei^y unsatisfactory. Positively ilhterate ; 
 — oh, I couldn't bear that." Virginia 
 gave a shudder as she spoke. 
 
 " I almost wish," said Alice, " that I had 
 accepted the place at Plymouth." 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! Five children and not 
 a penny of salary. It was a shameless 
 proposal." 
 
 " It was, indeed," sighed the poor gover- 
 ness. " But there is so little choice for 
 people like myself Certificates, and even 
 degrees, are asked for on every hand. 
 With nothing but references to past 
 employers, what can one expect ? I 
 know it will end in my taking a place 
 without salary." 
 
 " People seem to have still less need of 
 me," lamented the Companion. " I wish 
 
38 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 now that I had gone to Norwich as lady- 
 help." 
 
 " Dear, your health would never have 
 supported it." 
 
 " I don't know. Possibly the more 
 active life might do me good. It might 
 you know, Alice." 
 
 The other admitted this possibility with 
 a deep sigh. 
 
 " Let us review our position," she then 
 exclaimed. 
 
 It was a phrase frequently on her lips, 
 and always made her more cheerful. Vir- 
 ginia also seemed to welcome it as an 
 encouragement. 
 
 " Mine," said the Companion, " is almost 
 as serious as it could be. I have only 
 one pound left, with the exception of the 
 dividend." 
 
 " I have rather more than four pounds 
 still. — Now, let us think," Alice paused. 
 " Supposing we neither of us obtained 
 employment before the end of this year. 
 
ADRIFT. 39 
 
 We have to live, in that case, more than 
 six months — you on seven pounds, and I 
 on ten." 
 
 " It's impossible," said Virginia. 
 
 " Let us see. Put it in another form. 
 We have both to live together on seventeen 
 pounds. That is — " she made a compu- 
 tation on a piece of paper — " that is two 
 pounds, sixteen shillings and eightpence a 
 month — let us suppose this month at an 
 end. That represents fourteen shillings 
 and twopence a week. — Yes, we can 
 do it ! " 
 
 She laid down her pencil with an air of 
 triumph. Her dull eyes brightened as 
 thousfh she had discovered a new source of 
 income. 
 
 " We cannot, dear," urged Virginia, in 
 a subdued voice. " Seven shillings rent ; 
 that leaves only seven and twopence a 
 week for everything — everything." 
 
 " We could do it, dear," persisted the 
 other. "If it came to the very worst, our 
 
40 THE ODD WOMElSr. 
 
 food need not cost more than sixpence a 
 day — ^three and sixpence a week. I do 
 really believe, Virgie, we could support 
 life on less — say, on fourpence. Yes, we 
 could, dear ! " 
 
 They looked fixedly at each other, like 
 people about to stake everything on their 
 courage. 
 
 " Is such a life worthy of the name ? " 
 asked Virginia, in tones of awe. 
 
 " We shan't be driven to that. Oh, we 
 certainly shall not. But it helps one to 
 know that, strictly speaking, we are 
 independent for another six months." 
 
 That word gave Virginia an obvious 
 thrill. 
 
 " Independent ! Oh, Alice, what a 
 blessed thing is independence ! — Do you 
 know, my dear, I am afraid I have not 
 exerted myself as I might have done to 
 iind a new place. These comfortable 
 lodgings, and the pleasure of seeing 
 Monica once a week, have tempted me 
 
ADRIFT. 41 
 
 into idleness. It isn't really my wish to 
 be idle ; I know the harm it does me ; 
 but oh, if one could work in a home of 
 
 one's own ! " 
 
 Alice had a startled, appreliensive look, 
 as if her sister were touching- on a subject 
 hardly proper for discussion, or at least 
 danoferous. 
 
 " I'm afraid it's no use thinkinof of that, 
 dear," she answered awkwardly. 
 
 " No use ; no use whatever. I am wrong 
 to indulofe such thouofhts." 
 
 " Whatever happens, my dear," said 
 Alice presently, with all the impressive- 
 ness of tone she could command, " we 
 must never intrench upon our capital — 
 never — never ! " 
 
 "Oh, never ! — If we grow old and use- 
 less—" 
 
 "If no one will give us even board and 
 lodofino: for our services — " 
 
 " If we haven't a friend to look to," 
 Alice thi'ew in, as though they were 
 
42 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 answering each other in a doleful litany, 
 " then indeed we shall be glad that 
 nothing tempted us to intrench on our 
 capital ! It would just keep us " — her 
 voice sank — ''from the workhouse." 
 
 After this, each took up a volume, and 
 until tea-time they read quietly. 
 
 From six to nine in the evening they 
 again talked and read, alternately. Their 
 conversation was now retrospective ; each 
 revived memories of what she had endured 
 in one or the other house of bondage. 
 Never had it been their lot to serve 
 •' really nice " people ; — this phrase of 
 theirs was anything but meaningless. 
 They had lived with more or less well- 
 to-do families in the lower middle class, 
 people who could not have inherited refine- 
 ment, and had not acquired any, neither 
 proletarians nor gentlefolk, consumed with 
 a disease of vulgar pretentiousness, inflated 
 with the miasma of democracy. It would 
 have been but a natural result of such a 
 
ADRIFT. 43 
 
 life if the sisters had commented upon it 
 in a spirit somewhat akin to that of their 
 employers ; but they spoke without ran- 
 cour, without scandal-mongering. They 
 knew themselves superior to the women 
 who had grudgingly paid them, and often 
 smiled at recollections which would have 
 moved the servile mind to venomous abuse. 
 
 At nine o'clock they took a cup of cocoa 
 and a biscuit, and half an hour later they 
 went to bed. Lamp-oil was costly ; and 
 indeed they felt glad to say as early as 
 possible that another day had gone by. 
 
 Their hour of rising was eight. Mrs. 
 Conisbee provided hot water for their 
 breakfast. On descending to fetch it, 
 Virginia found that the postman had left 
 a letter for her. The writing on the 
 envelope seemed to be a stranger's. She 
 ran upstairs again in excitement. 
 
 " Who can this be from, Alice ? " 
 
 The elder sister had one of her head- 
 aches this, morning ; she was clay-colour, 
 
44 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 and tottered in moving about. The close 
 atmosphere of the bed-room would alone 
 have accounted for such a malady. But 
 an unexpected letter made her for the 
 moment oblivious of suffering. 
 
 " Posted in London," she said, examining 
 the envelope eagerly. " Some one you have 
 been in correspondence with ? " 
 
 " It's months since I wrote to any one in 
 London." 
 
 For full five minutes they debated the 
 mystery, afraid of dashing their hopes by 
 breaking the envelope. At length Vir- 
 ginia summoned courage. Standing at a 
 distance from the other, she took out the 
 sheet of paper with tremulous hand, and 
 glanced fearfully at the signature. 
 
 *'What do you think? It's Miss 
 Nunn!" 
 
 " Miss Nunn ? Never ! How could she 
 have got the address ? " 
 
 Again the difficulty was discussed, whilst 
 its ready solution lay neglected. 
 
ADRIFT. 45 
 
 " Do read it ! " said Alice at length, her 
 throbbing head, made worse by the agita- 
 tion, obliging her to sink down into the 
 chair. 
 
 The letter ran thus : — 
 
 " Dear Miss Madden, 
 
 " This morning I chanced to meet 
 with Mrs. Darby, who was passing through 
 London on her way home from the sea-side. 
 We had only five minutes' talk (it was at a 
 railway station), but she mentioned that 
 you were at present in London, and gave 
 me your address. After all these years, 
 how glad I should be to see you ! The 
 struggle of life has made me selfish ; I 
 have neglected my old friends. And yet 
 I am bound to add that some of them 
 have neglected me. Would you rather 
 that I came to your lodgings or you 
 to mine ? Which you like. I hear that 
 your elder sister is with you, and that 
 Monica is also in London somewhere. Do 
 
46 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 let us all see each other once more. Write 
 as soon as you can. My kindest regards 
 to all of you. 
 
 " Sincerely yours, 
 
 ^'Ehoda Nunn." 
 
 " How like her," exclaimed Virginia, 
 when she had read this aloud, " to re- 
 member that perhaps we may not care 
 to receive visitors I She was always so 
 thoughtful. — And it is true that I ought 
 to have written to her." 
 
 " We shall go to her, of course ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, as she gives us the choice. 
 How delightful ! I wonder what she is 
 doing ? She writes cheerfully ; I am sure 
 she must be in a good position. — What is 
 the address ? Queen's Road, Chelsea. Oh, 
 I'm so glad it's not very far. We can walk 
 there and back easily." 
 
 For several years they had lost sight of 
 Rhoda Nunn. She left Clevedon shortly 
 after the Maddens were scattered, and 
 
ADRIFT. 47 
 
 they heard slie had become a teaclier. 
 About the date of Monica's apprenticeship 
 at Weston, Miss Nunn had a chance 
 meetino* with Virginia and the younger 
 girl ; she was still teaching, but spoke of 
 her work with extreme discontent, and 
 hinted at vague projects. Whether she 
 succeeded in releasing herself the Maddens 
 never heard. 
 
 It was a morninof of doubtful fairness. 
 Before going to bed last night they had 
 decided to walk out together this morning 
 and purchase the present for Monica's 
 birthday, which was next Sunday. But 
 Alice felt too unwell to leave the house. 
 Virginia should write a reply to Miss 
 Nunn's letter, and then go to the book- 
 seller's alone. 
 
 She set forth at half-past nine. With 
 extreme care, she had preserved an out-of- 
 doors dress into the third summer ; it did 
 not look shabby. Her mantle was in its 
 second year only ; the original fawn colour 
 
48 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 had gone to an indeterminate grey. Her 
 hat of brown straw was a possession for 
 ever ; it underwent new trimming, at an 
 outlay of a few pence, when that became 
 unavoidable. Yet Virginia could not have 
 been judged anything but a lady. She 
 wore her garments as only a lady can (the 
 position and movement of the arms has 
 much to do with this), and had the step 
 never to be acquired by a person of vulgar 
 instincts. 
 
 A very long walk was before her. She 
 wished to get as far as the Strand book- 
 shops, not only for the sake of choice, but 
 because this region pleased her and gave 
 her a sense of holiday. Past Battersea 
 Park, over Chelsea Bridge, then the weary 
 stretch to Victoria Station, and the 
 upward labour to Charing Cross. Five 
 miles, at least, measured by pavement. 
 But Virginia walked quickly ; at half-past 
 eleven she was within sight of her goal. 
 
 A presentable copy of Keble's work cost 
 
A DRIFT. 49 
 
 less than she had ima<^nne(l. Tin's rejoiced 
 her. But, after leaving the shop, slie had 
 a singular expression on her face — some- 
 thing more than weariness, something less 
 than anxiety, something other than calcu- 
 lation. In front of Charinof- Cross Station 
 she stopped, looking vaguely about her. 
 Perhaps she had it in her mind to return 
 home by omnibus, and was dreading the 
 expense. Yet of a sudden she turned and 
 went up the approach to the railway. 
 
 At the entrance again she stopped. 
 Her features were now working in the 
 strangest way, as though a difficulty of 
 breathing had assailed her. In her eyes 
 was an eager, yet frightened look ; her 
 lips stood apart. 
 
 Another quick movement, and she 
 entered the station. She went straight to 
 the door of the refreshment room, and 
 looked in through the glass. Two or 
 three people were standing inside. She 
 drew back, a tremor passing through lier. 
 VOL. T. E 
 
50 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 A lady came out. Then again Virginia 
 approached the door. Two men only were 
 within, talking together. With a hurried, 
 nervous movement, she pushed the door 
 open and went up to a part of the counter 
 as far as possible from the two customers. 
 Bending forward, she said to the barmaid 
 in a voice just above a whisper : 
 
 " Kindly give me a little brandy." 
 
 Beads of perspiration were on her face, 
 which had turned to a ghastly pallor. 
 The barmaid, concluding that she was ill, 
 served her promptly and with a 
 sympathetic look. 
 
 Virginia added to the spirit twice its 
 quantity of water, standing, as she did so, 
 half turned from the bar. Then she 
 sipped hurriedly, two or three times, 
 and at length took a draught. Colour 
 flowed to her cheeks ; her eyes lost 
 their frightened glare. Another draught 
 finished the stimulant. She hastily 
 wiped her lips, and walked away with firm 
 step. 
 
ADli]FT. 51 
 
 In the meantime a threatening cloud 
 had passed from the sun ; warm rays 
 fell upon the street and its clamorous 
 life. Virginia felt tired in body, but a 
 delightful animation, rarest of boons, gave 
 her new strength. She walked into Tra- 
 falgar Square and viewed it like a person 
 who stands there for the first time, 
 smiling, interested. A quarter of an hour 
 passed whilst she merely enjoyed the air, 
 the sunshine, and the scene about her. 
 Such a quarter of an hour — so calm, 
 contented, unconsciously hopeful — as she 
 had not known since Alice's coming to 
 London. 
 
 She reached the house by half-past one, 
 bringing in a paper bag something 
 which was to serve for dinner. Alice had 
 a wretched appearance ; her head ached 
 worse than ever. 
 
 " Virgie," she moaned, " we never took 
 account of illness, you know." 
 
 " Oh, we must keej) that off,'' replied 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNiVERSIDT OF ILLINOIS 
 
52 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 the other, sitting down with a look of 
 exhaustion. She smiled, but no longer as 
 in the sunlight of Trafalgar Square. 
 
 " Yes, I mast struggle against it. We 
 will have dinner as soon as possible. I 
 feel faint." 
 
 If both of them had avowed their faint- 
 ness as often as they felt it, the complaint 
 would have been perpetual. But they 
 generally made a point of deceiving each 
 other, and tried to delude themselves ; 
 professing that no diet could be better for 
 their particular needs than this which 
 poverty imposed. 
 
 " Ah ! it's a good sign to be hungry," 
 exclaimed Virginia. " You'll be better 
 this afternoon, dear." 
 
 Alice turned over " The Christian 
 Year," and endeavoured to console herself 
 out of it, whilst her sister prepared the 
 meal. 
 
III. 
 
 AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN. 
 
 Virginia's reply to Miss Nunn's letter 
 brought another note next morning — 
 Saturday. It was to request a call from 
 the sisters that same afternoon. 
 
 Alice, unfortunately, would not be able 
 to leave home. Her disorder had become 
 a feverish cold, caught, doubtless, between 
 open window and door whilst the bed- 
 room was beino' aired for breakfast. She 
 lay in bed, and her sister administered 
 remedies of the chemist's advising. 
 
 But she insisted on Yiroinias leavin^^ 
 her in the afternoon. Miss Nunn might 
 have something of importance to tell or to 
 suggest. Mrs. Conisbee, sympathetic in 
 
54 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 her crude way, would see that the invalid 
 wanted for nothing. 
 
 So, after a dinner of mashed potatoes 
 and milk ("The Irish peasantry live 
 almost entirely on that," croaked Alice, 
 " and they are physically a fine race"), the 
 younger sister started on .her walk to 
 Chelsea. Her destination was a plain, 
 low, roomy old house in Queen's Eoad, 
 over against the Hospital Gardens. On 
 asking for Miss Nunn, she was led to a 
 back room on the ground floor, and there 
 waited for a few moments. Several large 
 book-cases, a well-equipped writing-table, 
 and kindred objects, indicated that the 
 occupant of the house was studious ; the 
 numerous bunches of cut flowers, which 
 agreeably scented the air, seemed to prove 
 the student a woman. 
 
 Miss Nunn entered. Younger only by 
 a year or two than Virginia, she was yet 
 far from presenting any sorrowful image of 
 a person on the way to old-maidenhood. 
 
AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN. 55 
 
 She had a clear, thoiif^h pale skin, a 
 vigorous frame, a brisk movement — all the 
 signs of fairly good health. Whether or 
 not she could be called a comely woman, 
 might have furnished matter for male 
 discussion ; the prevailing voice of her 
 own sex would have denied her charm 
 of feature. At first view the countenance 
 seemed masculine, its expression some- 
 what aggressive, — eyes shrewdly observant 
 and lips consciously impregnable. But 
 the connoisseur delayed his verdict. It 
 was a face that invited, that compelled, 
 study. Self-confidence, intellectual keen- 
 ness, a bright humour, frank courage, 
 were traits legible enough ; and when 
 the lips parted to show their warmth, 
 their fulness, when the eyelids drooped 
 a little in meditation, one became aware 
 of a suggestiveness directed not solely to 
 the intellect, of something like an un- 
 faniiliar sexual t\'pe, remote indeed from 
 the voluptuous, but hinting a possibility 
 
56 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 of subtle feminine forces that might be 
 released by circumstance. She wore a 
 black serge gown, with white collar 
 and cuffs ; her thick hair rippled low 
 upon each side of the forehead, and 
 behind was gathered into two loose 
 vertical coils ; in shadow the hue seemed 
 
 black, but when illumined it was seen to 
 be the darkest, warmest brown. 
 
 Offering a strong, shapely hand, she 
 
 looked at her visitor with a smile which 
 
 betrayed some mixture of pain in the 
 
 hearty welcome. 
 
 "And how long have you been in 
 
 London ? " 
 
 It was the tone of a busy, practical 
 
 person. Her voice had not much softness 
 
 of timbre, and perhaps on that account she 
 
 kept it carefully subdued. 
 
 " So long as that ? How I wish I had 
 
 known you were so near ! I have been in 
 
 London myself about two years. And 
 
 your sisters ? " 
 
AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN. 57 
 
 Virginia explained Alice's absence, 
 adding : 
 
 '' As for poor Monica, she has only 
 Sunday free — except one evening a month. 
 She is at business till half-past nine, and on 
 Saturday till half-past eleven or twelve." 
 
 " Oh, dear, dear, dear ! " exclaimed the 
 other rapidly, making a motion with her 
 hand as if to brush away something 
 disaofreeable. '* That will never do. You 
 must put a stop to that." 
 
 " I am sure we ought to." 
 
 Yirmnia's thin, timid voice and weak 
 manner were thrown into painful con- 
 trast by Miss Nunn's personality. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; we will talk about it pre- 
 sently. Poor little Monica 1 — But do tell 
 me about yourself and Miss Madden. 
 It is so long since I heard about you." 
 
 " Indeed I ought to have written. I 
 remember that at the end of our corre- 
 spondence I remained in your debt. But 
 it was a troublesome and depressing time 
 
S8 THE ODD WOMEX. 
 
 witli me. I had nothing but groans and 
 moans to send." 
 
 " You didn't stay long, I trust, with 
 that trying Mrs. Carr ? " 
 
 " Three years ! " sighed Virginia. 
 
 " Oh, your patience ! " 
 
 " I wished to leave again and again. 
 But at the end she always begged me not 
 to desert her — that was how she put it. ^ 
 After all, I never had the heart to go." 
 
 " Very kind of you, but — those ques- 
 tions are so difficult to decide. Self- 
 sacrifice may be quite wrong, I'm afraid." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " asked Virginia 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Yes, I am sure it is often wrong — all 
 the more so, because people proclaim it a 
 virtue without any reference to circum- 
 stances. — Then how^ did you get away at 
 last?" 
 
 " The poor woman died. — Then I had a 
 place scarcely less disagreeable.- — Now I 
 have none at all ; but I really must find 
 one very soon." 
 
AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN. 59 
 
 She laugbed at this alhisioii to her 
 poverty, and made nervous motions. 
 
 " Let me tell you what my own course 
 has been," said Miss Nunn, after a short 
 reflection. " When my mother died, I 
 determined to have done with teaching — 
 you know that. I disliked it too much, 
 and partly, of course, because I was incap- 
 able. Half my teaching was a sham — a 
 pretence of knowing what I neither knew 
 nor cared to know. I had gone into it 
 like most girls, as a dreary matter of 
 
 course." 
 
 " Like poor Alice, I'm afraid." 
 
 " Oh, it's a distressing subject. — When 
 my mother left me that little sum of 
 money, I took a bold step. I went to 
 Bristol to learn everything I could that 
 would help me out of school-life. Short- 
 hand, book-keeping, commercial corre- 
 spondence — I had lessons in them all, and 
 worked desperately for a year. It did me 
 good ; at the end of the year I was vastly 
 
60 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 improved in health, and felt myself worth 
 something in the world. J got a place as 
 cashier in a large shop. That soon tired 
 me, and by dint of advertising I found a 
 place in an office at Bath. It was a move 
 towards London, and I couldn't rest till I 
 had come the whole way. My first engage- 
 ment here was as shorthand writer to the 
 secretary of a company. But he soon 
 wanted some one who could use a type- 
 writer. That was a suggestion. I went 
 to learn type-writing, and the lady who 
 taught me asked me in the end to stay 
 with her as an assistant. This is her 
 house, and here I live with her." 
 " How energetic you have been ! " 
 " How fortunate, perhaps. — I must tell 
 you about this lady, — Miss Barfoot. She 
 has private means, — not large, but suffi- 
 cient to allow of her combining benevolence 
 with business. She makes it her object 
 to train young girls for work in offices, 
 teaching them the things that I learnt in 
 
AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN. 61 
 
 Bristol, and type-writing as well. Some 
 pa}^ for their lessons, and some get tliem 
 for nothing. Our workrooms are in Great 
 Portland Street, over a picture-cleaner's 
 shop. One or two girls have evening 
 lessons, but our pupils, for the most 
 part, are able to come in the day. Miss 
 Barfoot hasn't much interest in the lower 
 classes ; she wishes to be of use to the 
 daughters of educated people. And she 
 is of use. She is doing admirable work." 
 
 '•' Oh, I am sure she must be ! — What a 
 wonderful person ! " 
 
 " It occurs to me that she might help 
 Monica." 
 
 " Oh, do you think she would ? " ex- 
 claimed Virginia, with eager attention. 
 *' How crrateful we should be ! " 
 
 " Where is Monica employed ? " 
 
 "At a draper's in Walworth lioad. She 
 is worked to death. Every week I see a 
 difference in her, poor child. We hoped 
 to persuade her to go back to the shop at 
 
62 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Weston, but if this you speak of were 
 possible — how much better ! we have 
 never reconciled ourselves to her being in 
 that position — never." 
 
 " I see no harm in the position itself," 
 replied Miss Nunn, in her rather blunt 
 tone, " but I see a great deal in those 
 outrageous hours. She won't easily do 
 better in London, without special quali- 
 fications ; and probably she is reluctant to 
 go back to the country." 
 
 " Yes, she is ; very reluctant." 
 
 " I understand it," said the other, with 
 a nod. " Will you ask her to come and 
 see me f 
 
 A servant entered with tea. Miss Nunn 
 caught the expression in her visitor's eyes> 
 and said cheerfully : 
 
 ''I had no mid-day meal to-day, a,nd 
 really I feel the omission. Mary, please to 
 put tea in the dining-room, and bring up 
 some meat. — Miss Barfoot," she added, in 
 explanation to Virginia, " is out of town, 
 
AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN. 63 
 
 and I am a shockin^dy irregular person 
 about meals. I am sure you will sit down 
 with me ?" 
 
 Virginia sported with the subject. 
 Months of miserable eatinof and drinkino^ 
 in her stuffy bedroom made an invitation 
 such as this a veritable deHght to her. 
 Seated in the dining-room, she at first 
 refused the offer of meat, alleging her 
 vegetarianism ; but Miss Nunn, convinced 
 that the poor woman was starving, suc- 
 ceeded in persuading her. A slice of good 
 beef had much the same effect upon Vir- 
 ginia as her more dangerous indulgence 
 at Charing Cross Station. She brightened 
 wonderfully. 
 
 " Now let us go back to the library," said 
 Miss Nunn, when their meal was over. 
 " We shall soon see each other again, I hope, 
 but we might as well talk of serious things 
 whilst we have the opportunity. — Will you 
 allow me to be very frank with you ? " 
 
 The other looked startled. 
 
64 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " What could you possibly say that 
 would offend me ?" 
 
 "In the old days you told me all about 
 your circumstances. Are they still the 
 same ? " 
 
 " Precisely the same. Most happily, we 
 have never needed to intrench upon our 
 capital. Whatever happens, we must 
 avoid that^ — whatever happens ! " 
 
 " I quite understand you. But wouldn't 
 it be possible to make a better use of that 
 money ? It is eight hundred pounds, I 
 think ? — Have you never thought of em- 
 ploying it in some practical enterprise ? " 
 
 Virginia at first shrank in alarm, then 
 trembled deliciously at her friend's bold 
 views. 
 
 " Would it be possible ? — Heally ? — You 
 think — " 
 
 " I can only suggest, of course. One 
 mustn't argue about others from one's own 
 habit of thouofht. Heaven forbid" — this 
 sounded rather profane to the listener — 
 
AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN. 65 
 
 *' that I should ur<^e you to do anything 
 you would think rash. But how much 
 better if you could somehow secure 
 independence." 
 
 " Ah, if we could ! The very thing we 
 were saying the other day ! — But how ? I 
 have no idea how." 
 
 Miss Nunn seemed to hesitate. 
 
 " I don't advise. You mustn't give any 
 weight to what I say, except in so far as 
 your own judgment approves it. But 
 couldn't one open a preparatory school, 
 for instance ? At Weston, suppose, where 
 already you know a good many people. 
 Or even at Clevedon." 
 
 Virginia drew in her breath, and it was 
 easy for Miss Nunn to perceive that the 
 proposal went altogether beyond .her 
 friend's scope. Impossible, perhaps, to 
 inspire these worn and discouraged women 
 with a particle of her own enterprise. 
 Perchance they altogether lacked abihty 
 to manage a school for even the youngest 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 children. She did not press the subject ; 
 it might come up on another occasion. 
 Virginia begged for time to think it over ; 
 then, remembering her invahd sister, felt 
 that she must not prolong the visit. 
 
 " Do take some of these flowers," said 
 Miss Nunn, collecting a rich nosegay from 
 the vases. " Let them be mj message to 
 your sister. And I should be so glad to see 
 Monica. Sunday is a good time ; I am 
 always at home in the afternoon." 
 
 With a fluttering heart, Virginia made 
 what haste she could homewards. The 
 interview had filled her with a turmoil of 
 strange new thoughts, which she was 
 impatient to pour forth for Alice's won- 
 dering comment. It was the first time in 
 her life that she had spoken with a woman 
 daring enough to think and act for herself. 
 
IV. 
 
 Monica's majority. 
 
 Ix the drapery establishment where 
 Monica Madden worked and Hved it was 
 not (as is sometimes the case) positively 
 forbidden to the resident employees to 
 remain at home on Sunday ; but they 
 were strongly recommended to make the 
 utmost possible use of that weekly vaca- 
 tion. Herein, no doubt, appeared a laud- 
 able regard for their health. Young 
 people, especially young women, who are 
 laboriously engaged in a shop for thirteen 
 hours and a half every week day, and on 
 Saturday for an average of sixteen, may 
 be supposed to need a Sabbath of open 
 air. Messrs. Scotcher & Co. acted like 
 
 F 2 
 
68 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 conscientious men in driving them forth 
 immediately after breakfast and enjoining 
 upon them not to return until bedtime. 
 By. way of well-meaning constraint, it 
 was directed that only the very scantiest 
 meals (plain bread and cheese, in fact) 
 should be supplied to those who did not 
 take advantage of the holiday. 
 
 Messrs. Scotcher & Co. were large-minded 
 men. Not only did they insist that the 
 Sunday ought to be used for bodily 
 recreation, but they had no objection what- 
 ever to their young friends taking a stroll 
 after closing-time each evening. Nay, so 
 generous and confiding were they, that 
 to each young person they allowed a latch- 
 key. The air of Walworth Eoad is pure 
 and invigorating about midnight ; why 
 should the reposeful ramble be hurried by 
 consideration for weary domestics ? 
 
 Monica always felt too tired to walk 
 after ten o'clock; moreover, the usual con- 
 versation in the dormitory which she shared 
 
Monica's majority. G9 
 
 with five other young women was so Httle 
 to her taste that she wished to be asleep 
 when the talkers came up to bed. But on 
 Sunday she gladly followed the counsel 
 of her employers. If the weather were 
 bad, the little room at Lavender Hill 
 offered her a retreat ; when the sun shone, 
 she liked to spend a part of the day in 
 free wandering about London, which even 
 yet had not quite disillusioned her. 
 
 And to-day it shone brightly. This was 
 her birthday, the completion of her one- 
 and 'twentieth year. Alice and Virginia 
 of course expected her early in the morn- 
 ing, and of course they were all to dine 
 together — at the table measuring three 
 feet by one and a half; but the afternoon 
 and evening she must have to herself 
 The afternoon, because a few hours of her 
 sisters' talk invariably depressed her ; and 
 the evening, because she had an appoint- 
 ment to keep. As she left the big ugly 
 *' establishment," her heart beat cheerfully, 
 
70 THE ODD WOMEX. 
 
 and a smile fluttered about her lips. She 
 did not feel very well, but that was a 
 matter of course ; the ride in an omnibus 
 would perhaps make her head clearer. 
 
 Monica's face was of a recognized type of 
 prettiness ; a pure oval ; from the smooth 
 forehead to the dimpled little chin all its 
 lines were soft and graceful. Her lack of 
 colour, by heightening the effect of black 
 eyebrows and darkly lustrous eyes, gave 
 her at present a more spiritual cast than 
 her character justified ; but a thoughtful 
 firmness was native to her lips, and no 
 possibility of smirk or simper lurked in the 
 attractive features. Tlie slim figure was 
 well-fitted in a costume of pale blue, 
 cheap but becoming ; a modest little hat 
 rested on her black hair ; her gloves and 
 her sunshade completed the dainty picture. 
 
 An omnibus would be met in Kenning- 
 ton Park Road. On her way thither, in a 
 quiet cross-street, she was overtaken by a 
 young man who had left the house of 
 
MONICAS MAJORITY. 71 
 
 business a moment after her, and had 
 followed at a short distance, timidly. 
 A young man of unhealthy countenance, 
 with a red pimple on the side of his 
 nose, but not otherwise ill-looking. He 
 was clad with propriety, — stove-pipe hat, 
 diagonal frock-coat, pink tie, grey trousers, 
 and he walked with a springy gait. 
 
 " Miss Madden — " 
 
 He had ventured, with perturbation in 
 his face, to overtake Monica. She stopped. 
 
 '' What is it, Mr. Bullivant ? " 
 
 Her tone was far from encouraging, but 
 the young man smiled upon her with 
 timorous tenderness. 
 
 '' What a beautiful morning ! Are you 
 going far ? " 
 
 He had the Cockney accent, but not in 
 an offensive dem'ee : his manners were 
 not flagrantly of the shop. 
 
 "Yes ; some distance." Monica walked 
 slowly on. 
 
 " Will you allow me to walk a little way 
 
72 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 with you ? " he pleaded, bending towards 
 her. 
 
 " I shall take the omnibus at the end of 
 this street." 
 
 They went forward together. Monica 
 no longer smiled, but neither did she look 
 angry. Her expression was one of trouble. 
 
 '' Where shall you spend the day, Mr. 
 Bullivant ? " she asked at length, with an 
 efPort to seem unconcerned. 
 
 " I really don't know." 
 
 " I should think it would be very nice 
 up the river." — And she added, diffidently, 
 *^ Miss Eade is going to Richmond." 
 
 " Is she ? " he replied vaguely. 
 
 " At least, she wished to go, — if she 
 could find a companion.' 
 
 " I hope she will enjoy herself," said Mr. 
 Bullivant, with careful civility. 
 
 " But of course she won't enjoy it very 
 much if she has to go alone. — As you 
 have no particular engagement, Mr. Bul- 
 livant, wouldn't it be kind to — ? " 
 
Monica's majority. 73 
 
 The suggestion was incomplete, but 
 intelligible. 
 
 " I couldn't ask Miss Eade to let me 
 accompany her," said the young man 
 gravely. 
 
 "Oh, I think you could. — She would 
 like it." 
 
 Monica looked rather frightened at her 
 boldness, and quickly added : 
 
 " Now I must say good-bye. There 
 comes the 'bus." 
 
 Bullivant turned desperately in that 
 direction. He saw there was as yet no 
 inside passenger. 
 
 " Do allow me to go a short way with 
 you ? " burst from his lips. " I positively 
 don't know how I shall spend the 
 morning." 
 
 Monica had signalled to the driver, and 
 was hurrying forward. Bullivant followed, 
 reckless of consequences. In a minute, 
 both were seated within. 
 
 " You will forgive me ? " pleaded the 
 
74 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 young fellow, remarking a look of serious 
 irritation on his companion's face. ''I must 
 be with you a few minutes longer." 
 
 " I think when I have begged you not 
 to—" 
 
 " I know how bad my behaviour must 
 seem. But, Miss Madden, may I not be 
 on terms of friendship with you ? " 
 
 " Of course you may, — but you are not 
 content with that." 
 
 " Yes — indeed — I ivill be content — " 
 
 " It's foolish to say so. Haven't you 
 broken the understanding three or four 
 times ? " 
 
 The 'bus stopped for a passenger, a 
 man who mounted to the top. 
 
 *' I am so sorry," murmured Bullivant, 
 as the starting horses jolted them together. 
 " I try not to worry you. Think of my 
 position. You have told me that there is 
 no one else who — whose rights I ought to 
 respect. Feeling as I do, it isn't in human 
 nature to give up hope ! " 
 
Monica's majority. 75 
 
 " Then will you let iiie ask you a rude 
 question ? " 
 
 " Ask me anif question, Miss Madden." 
 
 '* How would it be possible for you to 
 support a wife ? " 
 
 She flushed and smiled. Bullivant, 
 dreadfully discomposed, did not move his 
 eyes from her. 
 
 " It wouldn't be possible, for some time," 
 he answered, in a thick voice. " I have 
 nothing but my wretched salary. But 
 every one hopes." 
 
 " What reasonable hope have you ? " 
 Monica urged, forcing herself to be cruel, 
 because it seemed the only way of putting 
 an end to this situation. 
 
 " Oh, there are so many opportunities 
 in our business. I could point to half-a- 
 dozen successful men who were at the 
 counter a few years ago. I may become a 
 walker, and get at least three pounds a 
 week. If I were lucky enough to be taken 
 on as a buyer, I might make — why, some 
 
76 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 make many hundreds a year — many hun- 
 dreds." 
 
 " And you would ask me to wait on and 
 on for one of these wonderful chances ? " 
 
 " If I could move your feelings, Miss 
 Madden," he began, with a certain dolorous 
 dignity ; but there his voice broke. He 
 saw too plainly that the girl had neither 
 faith in him nor liking for him. 
 
 " Mr. Bullivant, I think you ought to 
 wait until you really have prospects. — If 
 you were encouraged by some person, it 
 would be a different thing. — And indeed 
 you haven't to look far. — But where there 
 has never been the slightest encourage- 
 ment, you are really wroDg to act in this 
 way. A long engagement, where every- 
 thing remains doubtful for years, is so 
 wretched that — oh, if I were a man, I 
 would never try to persuade a girl into 
 that ! I think it wrong and cruel." 
 
 The stroke was effectual. Bullivant 
 averted his face, naturally woebegone, 
 
JMONICAS MAJORITY. 'J'J 
 
 and sat for some minutes without speak- 
 ing. The 'bus again drew up ; four or five 
 people were about to ascend. 
 
 " I will say good-morning, Miss Mad- 
 den," he whispered hurriedly. 
 
 She gave her hand, glanced at him with 
 embarrassment, and so let him depart. 
 
 Ten minutes restored the mood in which 
 she had set out. Once more she smiled to 
 herself Indeed, her head was better for 
 the fresh air, and the movement. If only 
 the sisters would allow her to get away 
 soon after dinner ! 
 
 It was Virginia who opened the door to 
 her, and embraced and kissed her with 
 wonted fondness. 
 
 " You are nice and early ! Poor Alice 
 has been in bed since the day before 
 yesterday ; a dreadliil cold and one of 
 her very worst headaches. But I think 
 she is a little better this morniiiu'." 
 
 Alice — a sad spectacle — was propped up 
 on pillows. 
 
7S THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " Don't kiss me, darling," she said, in a 
 voice barely audible. " You mustn't risk 
 getting a sore throat. How well you 
 look!" 
 
 " I'm afraid she doesn't look ivellj' 
 corrected Virginia, " but perhaps she has 
 a little more colour than of Jate. — Monica 
 dear, as AHce can hardly use her voice, I 
 will speak for both of us, and wish you 
 many, many happy returns of the day. 
 And we ask you to accept this little book 
 from us. It may be a comfort to you from 
 time to time." 
 
 '' You are good, kind dears ! " replied 
 Monica, kissing the one on the lips and 
 the other on her thinly-tressed head. 
 " It's no use saying you oughtn't to have 
 spent money on me ; you will always do 
 it. What a nice ' Christian Year ' ! I'll 
 do my best to read some of it now and 
 then." 
 
 With a half-guilty air, Virginia then 
 brought from some corner of the room a 
 
Monica's majority. 79 
 
 very small but delicate currant cake. 
 Monica must eat a mouthful of this ; she 
 always had such a wretched breakfast, 
 and the journey from Walworth Road 
 was enough to give an appetite. 
 
 "But you are ruining yourselves, foolish 
 people ! " 
 
 The others exchanged a look, and smiled 
 with such a strange air that Monica could 
 not but notice it. 
 
 " I know ! " she cried. " There's trood 
 news. You have found something, and 
 better than usual, Yirgie." 
 
 " Perhaps so. Who knows ? Eat your 
 slice of cake like a good child, and then I 
 shall have something to tell you." 
 
 Obviously the two were excited. Vir- 
 ginia moved about with the recovered step 
 of girlhood, held herself upright, and could 
 not steady her hands. 
 
 " You would never guess whom I have 
 seen," she began, when Monica was quite 
 ready to listen. " We had a letter the 
 
80 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 other morning which did puzzle us so — I 
 mean the writing before we opened it. 
 And it was from — Miss Nunn ! " 
 
 This name did not greatly stir Monica. 
 
 " You had quite lost sight of her, 
 hadn't you ? " she remarked. 
 
 " Quite. I didn't suppose we should 
 ever hear of her again. But nothing more 
 fortunate could have happened. My dear, 
 she is wonderful ! " 
 
 At considerable length Virginia detailed 
 all she had learnt of Miss Nunn's career, 
 and described her present position. 
 
 " She will be the most valuable friend 
 to us. Oh, her strength, her resolution ! 
 The way in which she discovers the right 
 thing to do ! — You are to call upon her as 
 soon as possible. This very afternoon you 
 had better go. She will relieve you from 
 all your troubles, darling. Her friend Miss 
 Barfoot will teach you type- writing, and 
 put you in the way of earning an easy and 
 pleasant livelihood. She will, indeed !" 
 
Monica's majority. 81 
 
 " But liow loiin- does it take ? " asked 
 
 o 
 
 the astonished girl. 
 
 " Oh, quite a short time, I should 
 think. We didn't speak of details ; they 
 were postponed. You will hear every- 
 thing yourself. — And she suggested all 
 sorts of ways," pursued Virginia, with 
 quite unintentional exaggeration, " in 
 which we could make better use of our 
 invested money. She is full of practical 
 expedients. The most wonderful person ! 
 She is quite like a man in energy and 
 resources. I never imagined that one of 
 our sex could resolve and plan and act as 
 she does ! " 
 
 Monica inquired anxiously what the 
 projects for improving their income 
 might be. 
 
 "Nothing is decided yet," was the reply, 
 o-iven with a confident smile. " Let us 
 first of all put you in comfort and 
 security ; that is the immediate need." 
 
 The listener was interested, but did not 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 show any eagerness for the change pro- 
 posed. Presently she stood at the wmdow 
 and lost herself in thought. Alice gave 
 signs of an inclination to doze ; she had 
 had a sleepless night, in spite of soporifics. 
 Though no sun entered the room, it was 
 very hot, and the presence of a third 
 person made the air oppressive. 
 
 " Don't you think we might go out for 
 half an hour ? " Monica whispered, when 
 Virginia had pointed to the invalid's 
 closed eyes. " I'm sure it's very unhealthy 
 for us all to be in this little place." 
 
 "I don't like to leave her," the other 
 whispered back. " But I certainly think 
 it would be better for you to have fresh 
 air. Wouldn't you like to go to church, 
 dear ? The bells haven't stopped yet." 
 
 The elder sisters were not quite regular 
 in their church-going. When weather or 
 lassitude kept them at home on Sunday 
 morning they read the service aloud. 
 Monica found the duty of listening rather 
 
Monica's majority. 83 
 
 grievous. Durin^^ the months that she 
 was alone in London she had fallen into 
 neglect of })nblic worship ; not from any 
 conscious emancipation, but because her 
 companions at the house of business never 
 dreamt of entering a church, and their 
 example by degrees affected her with care- 
 lessness. At present she was glad of the 
 pretext for escaping until dinner-time. 
 
 She went forth with the intention of 
 deceiving her sisters, of walking to 
 Clapham Common, and on her return in- 
 ventinof some sermon at a church the 
 others never visited. But before she had 
 gone many yards conscience overcame her. 
 Was she not getting to be a very lax- 
 minded p-irl "? And it was shameful to 
 impose upon the two after their loving- 
 kindness to her. As usual, her little 
 prayer-book was in her pocket. She 
 walked quickly to the familiar church, 
 and reached it just as the doors were 
 being closed. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Of all the congregation she probably 
 was the one who went throuofh the 
 service most mechanically. Not a word 
 reached her understanding. Sitting, stand- 
 ing, or on her knees, she wore the same 
 preoccupied look, with ever and again a 
 slight smile or a movement of the h'ps, as 
 if she were recalling some conversation of 
 special interest. 
 
 Last Sunday she had had an adventure, 
 the first of any real moment that had 
 befallen her in London. She had arranged 
 to go with Miss Eade on a steamboat up 
 the river. They were to meet at the 
 Battersea Park landing-stage at half-past 
 two. But Miss Eade did not keep her 
 appointment, and Monica, unwilling to 
 lose the trip, started alone. 
 
 She disembarked at Bichmond, and 
 strayed about for an hour or two ; then 
 had a cup of tea and a bun. As it was 
 still far too early to return, she went down 
 to the riverside, and seated herself on one 
 
Monica's majority. 85 
 
 of the benches. Many boats were going 
 by, a majority of them containing only 
 two persons — a young man who pulled, 
 and a mrl who held the strin2:s of the 
 tiller. Some of these couples Monica 
 disregarded ; but occasionally there passed 
 a skiff from which she could not take her 
 eyes. To lie back like that on the 
 cushions, and converse with a companion 
 who had nothing of the shop about him ! 
 
 It seemed hard that she must be alone. 
 Poor Mr. Bullivant would gladly have taken 
 her on the river ; but Mr. Bullivant — 
 
 She thouofht of her sisters. Their lone- 
 liness was for life, poor things. Already 
 they were old ; and they would grow 
 older, sadder, perpetually struggling to 
 supplement that dividend from the 
 precious capital — and merely that they 
 might keep alive. Oh ! — her heart ached 
 at the misery of such a prospect. How 
 much better if the poor girls had never 
 been born. 
 
86 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Her own future was more hopeful than 
 theirs had ever been. She knew herself 
 good-looking. Men had followed her in 
 the street and tried to make her acquaint- 
 ance. Some of the girls with whom she 
 lived regarded her enviously, spitefully. 
 But had she really the least chance of 
 marrying a man whom she could respect — 
 not to say love ? 
 
 One-and-twenty a week hence. At 
 Weston she had kept tolerable health, but 
 certainly her constitution was not strong, 
 and the slavery of Walworth Road 
 threatened her with premature decay. 
 Her sisters counselled wisely. Coming to 
 London was a mistake. She would have 
 had better chances at Weston, notwith- 
 standing the extreme discretion with 
 which she was obliged to conduct herself 
 
 While she mused thus, a profound dis- 
 couragement settling on her sweet face, 
 some one took a seat by her — on the same 
 bench, that is to say. Glancing aside, she 
 
Monica's majority. 87 
 
 saw that it was an oldish man, with 
 i'-rizzled whiskers and rather a stern 
 visage. Monica sighed. 
 
 Was it possihle tliat he had heard her ? 
 He looked this way, and with curiosity. 
 Ashamed of herself, she kept her eyes 
 averted for a lono- time. Presentlv, 
 following the movement of a boat, her 
 face turned unconsciously towards the 
 silent companion ; again he was looking 
 at her, and he spoke. The gravity of his 
 appearance and manner, the good-natured 
 commonplace that fell from his lips, could 
 not alarm her; a dialogue began, and 
 went on for about half an hour. 
 
 How old mioht he be ? After all, he 
 was probably not lifty — percliance not 
 much more than forty. His utterance fell 
 sliort of perfect refinement, but seemed 
 that of an educated man. And certainly 
 his clothes were such as a o'entleman 
 wears. He had thin, hairy hands, un- 
 marked by any effect of labour ; the nails 
 
88 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 could not have been better cared for. 
 Was it a bad sign that he carried neither 
 gloves nor walking-stick ? 
 
 His talk aimed at nothing but sober 
 friendliness ; it v/as perfectly inoffensive — 
 indeed, respectful. Now and then — not 
 too often — he fixed his eyes upon her for 
 an instant. After the introductory phrases, 
 he mentioned that he had had a long drive, 
 alone ; his horse was baiting in preparation 
 for the journey back to London. He often 
 took such drives in the summer, though 
 generally on a week-day ; the magnificent 
 sky had tempted him out this morning. 
 He lived at Heme Hill. 
 
 At length he ventured a question. 
 Monica affected no reluctance to tell him 
 that she was in a house of business, that 
 she had relatives in London, that only by 
 chance she fouud herself alone to-day. 
 
 " I should be sorry if I never saw you 
 again." 
 
 These words he uttered with embarrass- 
 
Monica's majority. 89 
 
 ment, his eyes on the ground. Monica 
 could only keep silence. Half an hour ago 
 she would not have thought it possible foi' 
 any remark of this man's seriously to 
 occupy her mind, yet now she waited for 
 the next sentence in discomposure which 
 was quite free from resentment. 
 
 " We meet in this casual way, and talk, 
 and then say good-bye. Why mayn't I 
 tell you that you interest me very mnch, 
 and that I am afraid to trust only to 
 chance for another meeting ? If you were 
 a man" — he smiled — "I should give you 
 my card, and ask you to my house. The 
 card I may at all events offer." 
 
 Whilst speaking, he drew out a little 
 case, and laid a visiting-card on the 
 bench within Monica's reach. Murmuring 
 her " thank you," she took the bit of 
 pasteboard, but did not look at it. 
 
 " You are on my side of the rivei%" he 
 continued, still with scrupulous modesty of 
 tone. " May I not hope to see you some 
 
90 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 day, when you are walking ? — All days 
 and times are the same to me ; but I am 
 afraid it is only on Sunday that you are 
 at leisure ? " 
 
 "Yes, only on a Sunday." 
 
 It took a long time and many circum- 
 locutions, but in the end an , appointment 
 was made. Monica would see her acquaint- 
 ance next Sunday evening on the river 
 front of Batter sea Park ; if it rained, then 
 the Sunday after. She was ashamed and 
 confused. Other girls were constantly 
 doing this kind of thing — other girls in 
 business ; but it seemed to put her on the 
 level of a servant. And why had she 
 consented ? The man could never be 
 anything to her ; he was too old, too hard- 
 featured, too grave. Well, on that very 
 account there would be no harm in meet- 
 ing him. In truth, she had not felt the 
 courage to refuse ; in a manner, he had 
 overawed her. 
 
 And perhaps she would not keep the 
 
Monica's majority. 91 
 
 engagement Notliing compelled her. 
 She hud not told him her name, nor the 
 house where she was employed. There 
 was a week to think it over. 
 
 All days and times were the same to 
 him — he said. And he drove about the 
 country for his pleasure. A man of means. 
 His name, according to the card, was 
 Edmund Widdowson. 
 
 He was upright in his walk, and strongly 
 built. She noticed this as he moved 
 away from her. Fearful lest he should 
 turn round, her eyes glanced at his figure 
 from moment to moment. But he did not 
 once look back 
 
 ,"And now to God the Father"— 
 The bustle throughout the church wak- 
 ened her from reverie so complete that 
 she knew not a syllable of the sermon. 
 After all she must deceive her sisters by 
 inventing a text, and perhaps a comment. 
 By an arrangement with Mrs. Conisbee, 
 
92 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 dinner was down in the parlour to-day. 
 A luxurious meal, moreover ; for in her 
 excitement Virginia had resolved to make 
 a feast of Monica's birthday. There was 
 a tiny piece of salmon, a dainty cutlet, 
 and a cold black-currant tart. Virginia, 
 at home a consistent vegetarian, took no 
 share of the fish and meat — which was only 
 enough for one person. Alice, alone 
 upstairs, made a dinner of gruel. 
 
 Monica was to be at Queen's Road, 
 Chelsea, by three o'clock. The sisters 
 hoped she would return to Lavender Hill 
 with her news, but that was left uncer- 
 tian — by Monica herself purposely. As 
 an amusement, she had decided to keep 
 her promise to Mr. Edmund Widdowson. 
 She was curious to see him again, and 
 receive a new impression of his person- 
 ality. If he behaved as inoffensively as 
 at E-ichmond, acquaintance with him might 
 be continued for the variety it brought 
 into her life. If anything unpleasant 
 
Monica's majority. 93 
 
 happened, she had only to walk away. 
 The slight, very slight, tremor of antici- 
 pation was reasonably to be prized by a 
 shop-girl at Messrs. Scotch er's. 
 
 Drawing near to Queen's Eoad, — the 
 wrapped-up Keble in her hand, — she began 
 to wonder whether Miss Nunn would have 
 any serious proposal to offer. Virginia's 
 report and ecstatic forecasts were, she 
 knew, not completely trustworthy ; though 
 more than ten years her sister's junior, 
 Monica saw the world with eyes much less 
 disposed to magnify and colour ordinary 
 facts. 
 
 Miss Barfoot was still from home ; 
 Rhoda Nunn received the visitor in 
 a pleasant, old-fashioned drawing-room, 
 where there was nothing costly, nothing 
 luxurious. Yet to Monica it appeared 
 richly furnished ; a sense of strangeness 
 amid such surroundings had more to do 
 with her constrained silence for the first 
 few minutes than the difficulty with which 
 
94 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 she recognized in this lady before her the 
 Miss Nunn whom she had known years 
 ago. 
 
 '^I should never have known you," said 
 Hhoda, equally surprised. " For one 
 thing, you look like a fever-patient, just 
 recovering. What can be expected ? Your 
 sister gave me a shocking account of how 
 you live." 
 
 " The work is very hard." 
 
 " Preposterous. Why do you stay a,t 
 such a place, Monica ? " 
 
 " I am getting experience." 
 
 "To be used in the next world ? " 
 
 They laughed. 
 
 *' Miss Madden is better to-day, I hope ? " 
 
 " Alice ? — Not much, I'm sorry to say." 
 
 " Will you tell me something more about 
 the ' experience ' you are getting ? For in- 
 stance, what time is given you for meals ? " 
 
 Rhoda Nunn was not the person to 
 manufacture light gossip when a matter of 
 the gravest interest waited for discussion. 
 
Monica's majority. 95 
 
 With a face tliat expressed thoughtful 
 sympathy, she encouraged the girl to 
 speak and confide in her. 
 
 " There's twenty minutes for each meal," 
 Monica explained, " but at dinner and tea 
 one is very likely to be called into the 
 shop before finishing. If you are long 
 away, you find the table cleared." 
 
 " Charming arrangement ! — No sitting 
 down behind the counter, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course not. We suffer a great 
 deal from that. Some of us get diseases. 
 A girl has just gone to the hospital with 
 varicose veins, and two or three others 
 have the same thing in a less trouble- 
 some form. Sometimes, on Saturday night, 
 I lose all feeling m my feet ; I have to 
 stamp on the floor to be sure it's still 
 under me." 
 
 " Ah, that Saturday night ! " 
 
 " Yes, it's bad enough now ; but at 
 Christmas ! There was a week or more of 
 Saturday nights — going on to one o'clock 
 
96 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 in the morning. A girl by me was twice 
 carried out fainting, one night after 
 another. They gave her brandy, and she 
 came back again." 
 
 " They compelled her to ? " 
 
 " Well, no, it was her own wish. Her 
 ' book of takings ' wasn't very good, poor 
 thing, and if it didn't come up to a certain 
 figure at the end of the week she would 
 lose her place. She lost it, after all. 
 They told her she was too weak. After 
 Christmas she was lucky enough to get a 
 place as a lady's-maid at twenty-five 
 pounds a year ; — at Scotcher's she had 
 fifteen. But we heard that she burst a 
 blood-vessel, and now she's in the Hospital 
 at Brompton." 
 
 " Delightful story ! — Haven't you an 
 early- closing day ? " 
 
 " They had before I went there ; but 
 only for about three months. Then the 
 agreement broke down." 
 
 " Like the assistants. A pity the 
 establishment doesn't follow suit." 
 
Monica's majority. 97 
 
 " But you wouldu't say so, Miss Nunn, 
 if you knew Ikjw terribly hard it is for 
 many girls to find a place, even now." 
 
 " I know it perfectly well. And I w^isli 
 it were harder. I wish girls fell down and 
 died of hunger in the streets, instead of 
 creeping to their garrets and the hospitals. 
 I should like to see their dead bodies 
 collected together in some open place, for 
 the crowd to stare at." 
 
 Monica gazed at her with wide eyes. 
 
 " You mean, I suppose, that people 
 would try to reform things." 
 
 " Who knows ? Perhaps they might only 
 congratulate each other that a few of the 
 superfluous females had been struck off. — 
 Do they give you any summer holiday 1 " 
 
 *' A week, with salary continued." 
 
 " Really ? With salary continued ? That 
 takes one's breath away. — Are many of 
 the girls ladies 1 " 
 
 '* None, at Scotcher s. They nearly all 
 come from tlie country. Several are 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 daughters of small farmers, and those 
 are dreadfully ignorant. One of them 
 asked me the other day in what country 
 Africa was." 
 
 " You don't find them very pleasant 
 company ? " 
 
 " One or two are nice, quiet girls." 
 
 Rhoda drew a deep sigh, and moved 
 with impatience. 
 
 ''Well, don't you think you've had 
 about enough of it — experience and 
 all?" 
 
 " I might go into a country business, 
 
 it would be easier." 
 
 " But you don't care for the thought 1 " 
 " I wish now they had brought me up to 
 something different. Alice and Virginia 
 were afraid of having me trained for a 
 school ; you remember that one of our sisters 
 who went through it died of overwork. 
 And I'm not clever, Miss Nunn. I never 
 did much at school." 
 
 Ehoda regarded her, smiling gently. 
 
Monica's majority. 99 
 
 " You have no inclination to study 
 now ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid not," replied the other, 
 looking away. " Certainly I should like 
 to be better educated, but I don't think 
 I could study seriously, to earn my living 
 by it. The time for that has gone by." 
 
 " Perhaps so. — But there are things you 
 might manage. No doubt your sister told 
 you how I get my living. There's a good 
 deal of employment for women who learn 
 to use a type- writer. — Did you ever have 
 piano lessons ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No more did I, and I was sorry for 
 it when I went to type-writing. The 
 fingers have to be light and supple and 
 quick. Come with me, and I'll show you 
 one of the machines." 
 
 They went to a room downstairs, a bare 
 little room by the library ; here were two 
 Remingtons, and Rhoda patiently ex- 
 plained their use. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " One must practise until one can do 
 fifty words a minute, at least. I know 
 one or two people who have reached 
 almost twice that speed. It takes a good 
 six months' work to learn for any profit- 
 able use. Miss Barfoot takes pupils." 
 
 Monica, at first very attentive, was 
 growing absent. Her eyes wandered 
 about the room. The other observed her 
 closely, and, it seemed, doubtfully. 
 
 "Do you feel any impulse to try 
 for it ? " 
 
 " I should have to live for six months 
 without earning anything." 
 
 " That is by no means impossible for 
 you, I think ? " 
 
 "Not really impossible," Monica replied, 
 with hesitation. 
 
 Something like dissatisfaction passed 
 over Miss Nunn's face, though she did 
 not allow Monica to see it. Her lips 
 moved in a way that perhaps signified 
 disdain for such timidity. Tolerance was 
 
MONICAS MAJORITY. 101 
 
 not one of the virtues expressed in her 
 physiognomy. 
 
 "Let us iro back to the drawinn*- room 
 and have some tea." 
 
 Monica could not become quite at ease. 
 This energetic woman had little attraction 
 for her. She saw the characteristics which 
 made Virginia enthusiastic, but feared 
 rather than admired them. To put herself 
 in Miss Nunn's hands might possibly 
 result in a worse form of bondao-e than she 
 suffered at the shop ; she would never 
 be able to please such a person, and 
 failure, she imagined, would result in more 
 or less contemptuous dismissal. 
 
 Then, of a sudden, as if slie had divined 
 these thoughts, Rhoda assumed an air of 
 gaiety, of frank kindness. 
 
 "So it is your birthday ? — I no longer 
 keep count of mine, and couldn't tell you 
 without a calculation what I am exactly. 
 It doesn't matter, you see. Thirty-one or 
 fifty-one is much the same for a woman 
 
102 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 who has made up her mind to live alone 
 and work steadily for a definite object. 
 But you are still a young girl, Monica. 
 My best wishes ! " 
 
 Monica emboldened herself to ask what 
 the object was for which her friend 
 worked. 
 
 '^How shall I put it?" replied the 
 other, smiling. " To make women hard- 
 hearted." 
 
 " Hard-hearted ? — I think I under- 
 stand." 
 
 " Do you ? " 
 
 " You mean that you like to see them 
 live unmarried." 
 
 Khoda laughed merrily. 
 
 "You say that almost with resentment." 
 
 "No — indeed — I didn't intend it." 
 
 Monica reddened a little. 
 
 " Nothing more natural, if you had done. 
 At your age, / should have resented it." 
 
 " But — " the girl hesitated — " don't you 
 approve of any one marrying ? " 
 
Monica's majority. 103 
 
 "Oh, I'm not so severe! — But do you 
 know that there are half a inilhou more 
 women than men in tliis happy country of 
 ours 5 
 
 '' Half a million ! " echoed Monica. 
 
 Her naive alarm again excited Rhoda to 
 laughter. 
 
 " Something like that, they say. So 
 many odd women — no making a pair with 
 them. The pessimists call them useless, 
 lost, futile lives. I, naturally — being one 
 of them myself — take another view. I 
 look upon them as a great reserve. When 
 one woman vanishes in matrimony, the 
 reserve offers a substitute for the world's 
 work. True, they are not all trained 
 yet — far from it. I want to help in 
 that — to train the reserve." 
 
 " But married women are not idle," 
 protested Monica earnestly. 
 
 " Not all of them. Some cook and rock 
 cradles." 
 
 Again Miss Nunn's mood changed. She 
 
104 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 aughed the subject away, and abruptly 
 began to talk of old days down in Somer- 
 set, of rambles about Cheddar Cliffs, or 
 at Glastonbury, or on the Quantocks. 
 Monica, however, could not listen, and 
 with difficulty commanded her face to a 
 pleasant smile. 
 
 " Will you come and see Miss Barfoot ? " 
 Rhoda asked, when it had become clear to 
 her that the girl would gladly get away. 
 " I am only her subordinate, but I know 
 she will wish to be of all the use to you 
 she can." 
 
 Monica expressed her thanks, and pro- 
 mised to act as soon as possible on any 
 invitation that was sent her. She took 
 leave just as the servant announced 
 another caller. 
 
V. 
 
 THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 At that corner of Battersea Park which 
 is near Albert Brido-e there has lain for 
 more than twenty years a curious collection 
 of architectural fragments, chiefly dismem- 
 bered columns, spread in order upon the 
 ground, and looking like portions of a 
 razed temple. It is the colonnade of Old 
 Burlington House, conveyed hither from 
 Piccadilly who knows why, and likely to 
 rest here, the sporting ground for ad- 
 venturous infmts, until its origin is lost 
 in the abyss of titne. 
 
 It was at this spot that Monica had 
 agreed to meet with her casual acquain- 
 tance, Edmund Widdowson, and there, 
 
106 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 from a distance, slie saw his lank, 
 upright, well-dressed figure moving back- 
 wards and forwards upon the grass. Even 
 at the last moment Monica doubted 
 whether to approach. Emotional interest 
 in him she had none, and the knowledge 
 of life she had gained in London assured 
 her that in thus encouraging a perfect 
 stranger she was doing a very hazardous 
 thing. But the evening must somehow 
 be spent, and if she went off in another 
 direction it would only be to wander about 
 with an adventurous mind ; for her conver- 
 sation with Miss Nunn had had precisely 
 the opposite effect of that which Rhoda 
 doubtless intended ; she felt something of 
 the recklessness which formerly excited 
 her wonder when she remarked it in the 
 other shop-girls. She could no longer be 
 without a male companion, and as she had 
 given her promise to this man — 
 
 He had seen her, and was coming 
 forward. To-day he carried a walking- 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 107 
 
 stick, and wore t^^loves ; otherwise his 
 appearance was the same as at Richmond. 
 At the distance of a few yards he raised 
 his hat, not very gracefully. Monica did 
 not offer her hand, nor did Widdowson 
 seem to expect it. But he gave proof of 
 an intense pleasure in the meeting ; his 
 sallow cheeks grew warm, and in the 
 many wrinkles about his eyes played a 
 singular smile, good-natured but anxious, 
 apprehensive. 
 
 " I am so glad you were able to come," 
 he said, in a low voice, bending towards 
 her. 
 
 " It has been even finer than last 
 Sunday," was Monica's rather vague reply, 
 as she glanced at some people who were 
 passing. 
 
 " Yes, a wonderful day. But I only 
 left home an hour ao-o, — Shall we walk 
 this way ? " 
 
 They went along the path by the river. 
 Widdowson exhibited none of the artifices 
 
108 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 of gallantry practised by men who are in 
 the habit of picking up an acquaintance 
 with shop-girls. His smile did not return ; 
 an extreme sobriety characterized his 
 manner and speech ; for the most part 
 he kept his eyes on the ground, and when 
 silent he had the look of one who inwardly 
 debates a grave question. 
 
 " Have you been into the country ? " 
 was one of his first inquiries. 
 
 " No. I spent the morning with my 
 sisters, and in the afternoon I had to see 
 a lady in Chelsea." 
 
 " Your sisters are older than yourself? " 
 
 " Yes, some years older." 
 
 " Is it long since you went to live apart 
 from them ? " 
 
 " We have never had a home of our own 
 since I was quite a child." 
 
 And, after a moment's hesitation, she 
 went on to give a brief account of her 
 history. Widdowson listened with the 
 closest attention, his lips twitching now 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 109 
 
 and tlieii, his eyes lialf closed. — But lor 
 cheek-bones that were too prominent and 
 nostrils rather too large, he was not ill 
 featured. No particular force of character 
 declared itself in his countenance, and his 
 mode of speech did not suggest a very 
 active brain. Speculatiug again about his 
 age, Monica concluded that he must be 
 two or three and forty, in spite of the fact 
 that his grizzled beard argued for a higher 
 figure. He had brown hair untouched by 
 any sign of advanced life, his teeth were 
 white and regular, and something — she 
 could not make clear to her mind exactly 
 what — convinced her that he had a riuht 
 to judge himself comparatively young. 
 
 " I supposed you were not a Londoner," 
 he said, when she came to a pause. 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Your speech. — Not," he added quickly, 
 " that you have any provincial accent. 
 And even if you had been a Londoner you 
 would not have shown it in that way." 
 
110 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 He seemed to be reproving himself for 
 a blunder, and after a short silence asked 
 in a tone of kindness : 
 
 " Do you prefer the town 1 " 
 
 '^ In some ways — not in all." 
 
 " I am glad you have relatives here, and 
 friends. So many young ladies come up 
 from the country who are quite alone." 
 
 " Yes, many." 
 
 Their progress to familiarity could 
 hardly have been slower. Now and then 
 they spoke with a formal coldness which 
 threatened absolute silence. Monica's 
 brain was so actively at work that she 
 lost consciousness of the people who were 
 moving about them, and at times her com- 
 panion was scarcely more to her than a 
 voice. 
 
 They had walked along the whole front 
 of the park, and were near Chelsea Bridge. 
 Widdowson gazed at the pleasure boats 
 lying below on the strand, and said diffi- 
 dently : 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. Ill 
 
 " Would you care to ^o on the river ? " 
 
 The proposal was so unexpected that 
 Monica looked u]:> with a startled air. She 
 had not thought of the man as likely to 
 offer any kind of amusement. 
 
 " It would be pleasant, I think," he 
 added. " The tide is still running up. 
 We might go very quietly for a mile or 
 two, and be back as soon as you like." 
 
 " Yes, I should hke it." 
 
 He brightened up, and moved with a 
 livelier step. In a few minutes they had 
 chosen their boat, had pushed off, and 
 were gliding to the middle of the broad 
 water. Widdowson managed the sculls 
 without awkwardness, but by no means 
 like a man well trained in this form of 
 exercise. On sitting down, he had taken 
 off his hat, stowed it away, and put on a 
 little travelling-cap, which he drew from 
 his pocket. Monica thought this became 
 him. After all, he was not a companion 
 to be ashamed of She looked witli 
 
112 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 pleasure at his white hairy hands with 
 their firm grip ; then at his boots — very 
 good boots indeed. He had gold links in 
 his white shirt-cuffs, and a gold watch- 
 guard chosen with a gentleman's taste. 
 
 " I am at your service," he said, with an 
 approach to gaiety. " Direct me. Shall 
 we go quickly — some distance, or only just 
 a little quicker than the tide would float 
 
 US { 
 
 " Which you like. To row much would 
 make you too hot." 
 
 " You would like to go some distance — 
 I see." 
 
 " No, no. Do exactly what you like. 
 — Of course we must be back in an hour 
 or two." 
 
 He drew out his watch. 
 
 '' It's now ten minutes past six, and 
 there is daylight till nine or after. When 
 do you wish to be home ? " 
 
 " Not much later than nine," Monica 
 answered, with the insincerity of prudence. 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 113 
 
 ** Then we will just go quietly along. — I 
 wish we could have started early in the 
 afternoon. But that may be for another 
 day, I hope." 
 
 On her lap Monica had the little brown - 
 paper parcel which contained her j)i'esent. 
 She saw that Widdowson glanced at it 
 from time to time, but she could not bring 
 herself to explain what it was. 
 
 " I w^as very much afraid that I should 
 not see you to-day," he said, as they glided 
 softly by Chelsea Embankment. 
 
 " But I promised to come if it was fine." 
 
 " Yes. I feared something might pre- 
 vent you. You are very kind to give me 
 your company. " He was looking at the 
 tips of her little boots. " I can't say how 
 I thank you." 
 
 Much embarrassed, Monica could only 
 gaze at one of the sculls, as it rose and 
 fell, the water dripping from it in bright 
 beads. 
 
 " Last year," he pursued, " I went on 
 
 VOL. 1. . T 
 
114 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 the river two or three times, but alone. 
 This year I haven't been in a boat till 
 to-day." 
 
 " You prefer driving ? " 
 
 " Oh, it's only chance. I do drive a 
 good deal, however. I wish it were 
 possible to take you through the splendid 
 country I saw a day or two ago — down in 
 Surrey. Perhaps some day you will let 
 me. — I live rather a lonely life, as you see. 
 I have a housekeeper ; no relative lives 
 with me. My only relative in London is a 
 sister-in-law, and we very seldom meet." 
 
 " But don't you employ yourself in 
 any way ? " 
 
 *' I'm very idle. But that's partly 
 because I have worked very hard and 
 hopelessly all my life — till a year and a 
 half ago. I began to earn my own living 
 when I was fourteen, and now I am forty- 
 four — to-day." 
 
 "This is your birthday?" said Monica, 
 with an odd look the other could not 
 understand. 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 115 
 
 " Yes. — I only remembered it a few 
 hours ago. Strange that such a treat 
 should have been provided for me. — Yes, 
 I am very idle. A year and a half ago 
 my only brother died. He had been very 
 successful in life, and he left me what I 
 regard as a fortune, though it was only a 
 small part of what he had." 
 
 The listener's heart throbbed. Without 
 intending it, she pulled the tiller so that 
 the boat began to turn towards land. 
 
 " The left hand a little," said Widdow- 
 son, smiling correctively. " That's right. — 
 Many days I don't leave home. I am fond 
 of reading, and now I make up for all the 
 time lost in years gone by. — Do you care 
 for books ? " 
 
 " I never read very much, and I feel 
 very ignorant." 
 
 " Bat that is only for want of oppor- 
 tunity, I'm sure." 
 
 He glanced at the bro^vn-paper parcel. 
 Acting on an impulse which perturbed her 
 
 I 2 
 
116 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Monica began to slip off the loosely tied 
 string, and to unfold the paper. 
 
 " I thought it was a book ! " exclaimed 
 Widdowson merrily, when she had re- 
 vealed a part of her present. 
 
 " When you told me your name," said 
 Monica, " I ought perhaps to have told 
 you mine. It's written here. My sisters 
 gave me this to day." 
 
 She offered the little volume. He took 
 it as though it were something fragile, and 
 — the sculls fixed under his elbows — 
 turned to the fly-leaf 
 
 " What ? It is your birthday ? " 
 
 " Yes. I am twenty-one." 
 
 "Will you let me shake hands with 
 you ? " His pressure of her fingers was 
 the lightest possible. " Now that's rather 
 a strange thing — isn't it ? Oh, I remem- 
 ber this book very well, though I haven't 
 seen it or heard of it for twenty years. 
 My mother used to read it on Sun- 
 days. — And it is really your birthday ? 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANTJE. 117 
 
 — I am more than twice your age, Miss 
 Madden." 
 
 The hist remark was uttered anxiously, 
 mournfully. Then, as if to reassure himself 
 by exerting physical strength, he drove 
 the boat along with half-a-dozen vigorous 
 strokes. Monica was rustUng over the 
 pages, but without seeing them. 
 
 " I don't think," said her companion 
 presently, " you are very well contented 
 with your life in that house of business." 
 
 " No, I am not." 
 
 " I have heard a good deal of the hard- 
 ships of such a life. Will you tell me 
 something about yours ? " 
 
 Readily she gave him a sketch of her 
 existence from Sunday to Sunday, but 
 without indignation, and as if the subject 
 had no great interest for her. 
 
 " You must be very strong," was Wid- 
 dowson's comment. 
 
 " The lady I went to see this afternoon 
 told me I looked ill." 
 
118 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 *' Of course I can see the effects of 
 overwork. My wonder is that you 
 endure it at all. — Is that lady an old 
 acquaintance ? " 
 
 Monica answered with all necessary 
 detail, and went on to mention the 
 proposal that had been made to her. 
 The hearer reflected, and put further 
 questions. Unwilling to speak of the 
 little capital she possessed, Monica told 
 him that her sisters might perhaps help her 
 to live whilst she was learning a new 
 occupation. But Widdowson had become 
 abstracted ; he ceased pulling, crossed his 
 arms on the oars, and watched other 
 boats that were near. Two deep wrinkles, 
 rippling in their course, had formed across 
 his forehead, and his eyes widened in a 
 gaze of complete abstraction at the farther 
 shore. 
 
 " Yes," fell from him at length, as 
 though in continuation of something he 
 had been saying, " I began to earn my 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 119 
 
 bread when I was fourteen. — My father 
 was an auctioneer at Brighton. A few 
 years after his marriage he had a bad 
 ilhiess, which left him completely deaf 
 His partnership with another man was 
 dissolved, and as things went worse and 
 worse with him, my mother started a 
 lodging-house, which somehow supported 
 us for a lono' time. She was a sensible, 
 good, and brave woman. — I'm afraid my 
 father had a good many faults that made 
 her life hard. He was of a violent temper, 
 and of course the deafness didn't improve 
 it. Well, one day a cab knocked him 
 down in the King's Road, and from that 
 injury, though not till a year after, he 
 died. — There were only two children ; I 
 was the elder. My mother couldn't keep 
 me at school very long, so, at fourteen, I 
 was sent into the office of the man who 
 had been my father's partner, to serve liim 
 and learn the business. I did serve him 
 for years, and for next to no payment, bat 
 
120 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 he taught me nothing more than he could 
 help. He was one of those heartless, 
 utterly selfish men that one meets too 
 often in the business world. I ought 
 never to have been sent there, for my 
 father had always an ill opinion of him ; 
 but he pretended a friendly interest in 
 me — ^just, I am convinced, to make the 
 use of me that he did." 
 
 He was silent, and began rowing again. 
 
 " What happened then ? " asked Monica. 
 
 " I mustn't make out that I was a 
 faultless boy," he continued, with the 
 smile that graved wrinkles about his 
 eyes, " quite the opposite. I had a good 
 deal of my father's temper ; I often 
 behaved very badly to my mother ; what 
 I needed was some stern but conscientious 
 man to look after me and make me work. 
 In my spare time I lay about on the shore, 
 or got into mischief with other boys. It 
 needed my mother's death to make a more 
 sensible fellow of me, and by that time it 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 121 
 
 was too late. I mean I was too old to 
 be trained into profitable business-habits. 
 Up to nineteen I had ])een little more 
 than an errand and office boy, and all 
 through the after years I never got a 
 much better position." 
 
 " I can't understand that," remarked 
 Monica thoughtfully. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " You seem to — to be the kind of man 
 that would make your way." 
 
 " Do T ? " The description pleased him ; 
 he laucrhed cheerfully. " But I never 
 found what my way was to be. I have 
 always hated office-work, and business of 
 every kind ; yet I could never see an 
 opening in any other direction. I have 
 been all my life a clerk — like so many 
 thousands of other men. Nowadays, if I 
 happen to be in the City when all the 
 clerks are coming away from business, I 
 feel an inexpressible pity for them. I 
 feel I should like to find two or three of 
 
122 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 the hardest driven, aiid just divide my 
 superfluous income between them. A 
 clerk's life — a life of the office without 
 any hope of rising — that is a hideous 
 fate!" 
 
 "But your brother got on well. Why 
 didn't he help you ? " 
 
 " We couldn't agree. We always 
 quarrelled." 
 
 " Are you really so ill-tempered ? " 
 
 It was asked in Monica's most naive 
 tone, with a serious air of investigation 
 which at first confused Widdowson, then 
 made him laugh. 
 
 " Since I was a lad," he replied, " I 
 have never quarrelled with any one except 
 my brother. I think it's only very un- 
 reasonable people that irritate me. Some 
 men have told me that I was far too 
 easy-going, too good-natured. Certainly 
 I desire to be good-natured. But I don't 
 easily make friends ; as a rule I can't talk 
 to strangers. I keep so much to myself 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 123 
 
 that those wlu) know me only a Httle 
 think me surly and unsociable." 
 
 " So your brother always refused to 
 help you ? " 
 
 " It wasn't easy for him to help me. 
 He got into a stockbroker's, and went on 
 step by step until he had saved a little 
 money ; then he speculated in all sorts of 
 ways. • He couldn't employ me himself — 
 and if he could have done, we should 
 never have o-ot on toofether. It was im- 
 possible for him to recommend me to any 
 one except as a clerk. — He was a born 
 money-maker. I'll give you an example 
 of how he grew rich. In consequence 
 of some mortgage- business, he came into 
 possession of a field at Clapham. As late 
 as 1875, this field brought him only a rent 
 of forty pounds ; it was freehold property, 
 and he refused many offers of purchase. 
 Well, in 1885, the year before he died, 
 the ground-rents from tliat field — now 
 covered with houses — were seven hundred 
 
124 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 and ninety pounds a year. That's how 
 men get on who have capital, and know 
 how to use it. If / had had capital, it 
 would never have yielded me more than 
 three or four per cent. I was doomed to 
 work for other people who were growing 
 rich. — It doesn't matter, much now, 
 except that so many years of life have 
 been lost." 
 
 " Had your brother any children ? " 
 
 " No children. All the same, it aston- 
 ished me when I heard his will; I had 
 expected nothing. In one day — in one 
 hour — I passed from slavery to freedom, 
 from poverty to more than comfort. — We 
 never hated each other ; I don't want you 
 to think that." 
 
 " But — didn't it bring you friends, as 
 well as comfort ? " 
 
 " Oh," he laughed, " I am not so rich as 
 to have people pressing for my acquain- 
 tance. I have only about six hundred a 
 year." 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 125 
 
 Monica drew in her breath, silently ; 
 then gazed at the distance. 
 
 " No, I liaveii't made any new friends. 
 The one or two men I care for are not 
 nuich better off than I used to be, and I 
 always feel ashamed to ask them to come 
 and see me. Perhaps they think I shun 
 them because of their position, and I don't 
 know how to justify myself. Life has 
 always been full of worrying problems for 
 me. I can't take things in the simple way 
 that comes natural to other men." 
 
 " Don't you think we ought to be turn- 
 ing back, Mr. Widdowson ? " 
 
 " Yes, we will. — I am sorry the time 
 goes so quickly." 
 
 When a few minutes had passed in 
 silence, he asked : 
 
 " Do you feel that I am no longer quite 
 a stranger to you, Miss Madden ? " 
 
 " Yes — you have told me so much." 
 
 " It's very kind of you to listen so 
 patiently. I wish 1 had more interesting 
 
126 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 things to tell, but you see what a dull life 
 mine has been." He paused, and let the 
 boat waver on the stream for a moment. 
 *' When I dared to speak to you last 
 Sunday I had only the faintest hope that 
 you would grant me your acquaintance. 
 You can't, I am sure, repent of having done 
 me that kindness — ? " 
 
 *' One never knows — I doubted whether 
 I ought to talk with a stranger — " 
 
 •' Rightly — quite rightl}^. It was my 
 perseverance — - you saw, I hope, that 
 I could never dream of giving you 
 offence. The rule is necessary, but you 
 see there may be exceptional cases." He 
 was giving a lazy stroke now and then, 
 which, as the tide was still, just moved 
 the boat onwards. " I saw something in 
 your face that compelled me to speak to 
 you. — And now we may really be friends, 
 I hope 1 " 
 
 ''' Yes — -I can think of you as a friend 
 Mr. Widdowson." 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 127 
 
 A large boat was passing, with four 
 or five young men and girls, who sang in 
 good time and tune. Only a song of the 
 music-hall or of the nigger minstrels, but 
 it sounded pleasantly with the plash of 
 oars. A fine sunset had begun to glow 
 upon the river ; its warmth gave a tone to 
 Monica's thin cheeks. 
 
 '' And you will let me see you again 
 before long ? — Let me drive you to Hamp- 
 ton Court next Sunday — or any other place 
 you would choose." 
 
 " Very likely I shall be invited to my 
 friend's in Chelsea." 
 
 " Do you seriously think of leaving the 
 shop ? " 
 
 '' I don't know — I must have time to 
 think about it — " 
 
 '' Yes — yes. But if I write a line to 
 you, say on Friday, would you let me 
 know whether you can come ? " 
 
 " Please to let me refuse for next 
 Sunday. — The one after, perhaps — " 
 
128 THE ODD y/OMEN. 
 
 He bent his head, looked desperately 
 grave, and drove the boat on. Monica 
 was disturbed, but held to her resolution, 
 which Widdowson silently accepted. The 
 rest of the way they exchanged only brief 
 sentences, about the beauty of the sky, 
 the scenes on river or bank, and other 
 impersonal matters. After landing, they 
 walked in silence towards Chelsea Bridge. 
 
 " Now I must go quickly home," said 
 Monica. 
 
 " But how ? " 
 
 •* By train — from York Boad to Wal- 
 worth Boad." 
 
 Widdowson cast a curious glance at 
 her. One w^ould have imagined that he 
 found something to disapprove in this 
 ready knowledge of London transit. 
 
 " I will go with you to the station, 
 then." 
 
 Without a word spoken, they walked 
 the short distance to York Boad. Monica 
 took her ticket, and offered a hand for 
 good-bye. 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCi:. 120 
 
 " I may write to you," said Widdowson, 
 his face set in an expression of anxiety, 
 " and make an appointment, if possible, for 
 the Sunday after next ? " 
 
 " I shall be glad to come — if I can." 
 
 " It will be a very long time to me." 
 
 With a faint smile, Monica hurried 
 away to the platform. In the train she 
 looked like one whose mind is occupied 
 with grave trouble. Fatigue had suddenly 
 overcome her ; she leaned back and closed 
 her eyes. 
 
 At a street corner very near to Messrs. 
 Scotcher s establishment she was inter- 
 cepted by a tall, showily dressed, rather 
 coarse -featured girl, who seemed to have 
 been loiterino^ about. It w^as Miss Eade. 
 
 " I Avant to speak to you, Miss Madden. 
 Where did you go with Mr. Bulhvant this 
 morning ? " 
 
 The voice could not have been more 
 distinctive of a London shop-girl ; its tone 
 signified irritation. 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 "With Mr. Bullivant? I went no- 
 where with him." 
 
 " But I S'jtw you both get into the 'bus 
 in Kennington Park Road." 
 
 " Did you ? " Monica returned coldly. 
 ** I can't help it if Mr. Bullivant happened 
 to be going the same way." 
 
 " Oh, very well ! I thought you was 
 to be trusted. It's nothing to me — " 
 
 " You behave very foolishly, Miss Eade," 
 exclauned the other, whose nerves at this 
 moment would not allow her to use 
 patience with the jealous girl. " I can 
 only tell you that I have never thought 
 again of Mr. Bullivant since he left the 
 'bus somewhere in Clapham Boad. I'm 
 tired of talking about such things." 
 
 " Now, see here, don't be cross. Come 
 and walk a bit and tell me — " 
 
 " I'm too tired. And there's nothing 
 whatever to tell you." 
 
 " Oh, well, if you're going to be 
 narsty ! " 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 131 
 
 Monica walked on, but the girl caiiglit 
 her up. 
 
 " Don't be so sharp with me, Miss 
 Madden. I don't say as you wanted him 
 to go in the 'bus with you. But you 
 might tell me what he had to say." 
 
 " Nothing at all ; except that he wished 
 to know where I was going, which was no 
 business of his. I did what I could for 
 you. I told him that if he asked you to 
 go up the river with him I felt sure you 
 wouldn't refuse." 
 
 '' Oh, you did ! " Miss Eade threw up 
 her head. " I don't think it was a very 
 delicate thing to say." 
 
 " You are very unreasonable. I myself 
 don't think it was very delicate, but 
 haven't you ^\:orried me to say something 
 of the kind ? " 
 
 " No, that I'm sure I haven't I Worrited 
 you, indeed ! " 
 
 " Then please never to speak to me on 
 the subject again. I'm tired of it." 
 
 K 2 
 
132 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 "And what did he say, when you'd said 
 that ? " 
 
 " I can't remember." 
 
 Oh, you are narsty to-day ! Really you 
 are ! If it had been the other way about, 
 I'd never have treated you like this, that 
 I wouldn't." 
 
 '' Good-night ! " 
 
 They were close to the door by which 
 Messrs. Scotcher's resident employees en- 
 tered at night. Monica had taken out 
 her latch-key. But Miss Eade could not 
 endure the thought of being left in 
 torturing ignorance. 
 
 " Do tell me ! " she whispered. " I'll do 
 anything for you I can. Don't be unkind, 
 Miss Madden ! " 
 
 Monica turned back again. 
 
 " If I were you, I wouldn't be so silly. 
 I can't do more than assure you and pro- 
 mise you that I shall never listen to Mr. 
 Bullivant." 
 
 " But what did he say about me, dear ? " 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 133 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 Miss Eade kept a mortified silence. 
 
 " Yon liad much better not think of him 
 at all. I wonld have more pride. I wish 
 I could make you see him as / do." 
 
 " And you did really speak about me ? — 
 Oh, I do wish you'd find some one to go out 
 with. Then, perhaps — " 
 
 Monica stood still, hesitated, at length 
 said : 
 
 " Well — I have found some one." 
 
 " You have ? " The girl all but danced 
 with joy. " You really have ? " 
 
 " Yes — so now don't trouble me any 
 more." 
 
 This time she was allowed to turn back 
 and enter the house. 
 
 No one else had yet come in. Monica 
 ate a mouthful of bread and cheese, which 
 was in readiness on the long table down in 
 the basement, and at once went to bed. 
 But no welcome drowsiness fell upon her. 
 At half-past eleven, when two of the 
 
134 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 other five girls who slept in the room 
 made their appearance, she was still 
 changing uneasily from side to side. They 
 lit the gas (it was not turned off till mid- 
 night, after which hour the late arrivals 
 had to use a candle of their own procuring), 
 and began a lively conversation on the 
 events of the day. Afraid of being obliged 
 to talk, Monica feigned sleep. 
 
 At twelve, just as the gas went out, 
 another pair came to repose. They had 
 been quarrelling, and were very gloomy. 
 After a long and acrimonious discussion in 
 the dark as to which of them should find a 
 candle, — it ended in one of the girls who 
 were in bed impatiently supplying a light, 
 — they began sullenly to throw off their 
 garments. 
 
 " Is Miss Madden awake? "said one of 
 them, looking in iMonica's direction. 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " She's picked up some feller to-day," 
 continued the speaker, lowering her voice, 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 135 
 
 and glancing round at her companions with 
 a grin. " Or else she's had him all along — 
 I shouldn't wonder." 
 
 Heads were put forward eagerly, and 
 inquiries whispered. 
 
 " He's oldish, I should say. I caught 
 sight of them just as they was going off 
 in a boat from Battersea Park, but I 
 couldn't see his face very well. He looked 
 rather like Mr. Thomas." 
 
 Mr. Thomas was a member of the 
 drapery firm, a man of fifty, ugly and 
 austere. At this description the listeners 
 giggled and uttered exclamations. 
 
 " Was he a swell ? " asked one. 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder if he was. You can 
 trust Miss M. to keep her eyes open. 
 She's one of the sly and quiet 'uns." 
 
 " Oh, is she ! " murmured another en- 
 viously. '' She's just one of those as 
 gets made a fool of — that's my opinion." 
 
 The point was argued for some minutes. 
 It led to talk about Miss Eade, who was 
 
136 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 treated with frank contempt because of 
 her ill-disguised pursuit of a mere counter- 
 man. These ofcher damsels had, at present, 
 more exalted views, for they were all 
 younger than Miss Eade. 
 
 Just before one o'clock, when silence had 
 reigned for a quarter of an' hour, there 
 entered with much bustle the last occupant 
 of the bed-room. She was a young woman 
 with a morally unenviable reputation, 
 though some of her colleagues certainly 
 envied her. Money came to her with 
 remarkable readiness whenever she had 
 need of it. As usual, she began to talk 
 very loud, at first with innocent vulgarity; 
 exciting a little laughter, she became 
 anecdotic and very scandalous. It took 
 her a long time to disrobe, and when the 
 candle was out she still had her richest 
 story to relate, — of point so Rabelaisian 
 that one or two voices made them- 
 selves heard in serious protest The 
 gifted anecdotist replied with a long 
 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE. 137 
 
 laugh, then cried, " Good-ni^ht, young 
 ladies ! " and sank peacefully to slumber. 
 As for Monica, she saw the white dawn 
 peep at the window, and closed her tear- 
 stained e^^es only w^ben the life of a new 
 week bad begun noisily in Walworth Iload. 
 
VI 
 
 A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 
 
 In consequence of letters exchanged 
 during the week, next Sunday brought 
 the three Miss Maddens to Queen's Koad, 
 to lunch with Miss Barfoot. Alice had 
 recovered from her cold, hut was still 
 ailing, and took rather a gloomy view of 
 the situation she had lately reviewed 
 with such courage. Virginia maintained 
 her enthusiastic faith in Miss Nunn, and 
 was prepared to reverence Miss Barfoot 
 with hardly less fervour. Both of them 
 found it difficult to understand their young 
 sister, who, in her letters, had betrayed 
 distaste for the change of career proposed 
 to her. They were received with the 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 139 
 
 utmost kindness, and all greatly enjoyed 
 their afternoon, for not even Monica's 
 prejudice against a house, which in her 
 own mind she had stigmatized as ''an 
 old-maid factory," could resist the charm 
 of the hostess. 
 
 Though Miss Barfoot had something less 
 than a woman's average stature, the note 
 of her presence was personal dignity. She 
 was handsome, and her carriage occa- 
 sionally betrayed a consciousness of the 
 fact. According to circumstances, she 
 bore herself as the lady of aristocratic 
 tastes, as a genial woman of the world, or 
 as the fervid prophetess of female emanci- 
 pation, and each character was supported 
 with a spontaneity, a good-natured con- 
 fidence, which inspired liking and respect. 
 A brilliant complexion and eyes tliat 
 sparkled with habitual cheerfulness gave 
 her the benefit of doubt when her age was 
 in question ; her style of dress, gracefully 
 ornate, would have led a stranger to pre- 
 
140 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 sume her a wedded lady of some distinc- 
 tion. Yet Mary Barfoot had known many 
 troubles, poverty among them. Her 
 experiences and struggles bore a close 
 resemblance to those which Rhoda Nunn 
 had gone through, and the time of trial 
 had lasted longer. Mental and moral 
 stamina would have assured her against 
 such evils of celibacy as appeared in the 
 elder Maddens, but it was to a change of 
 worldly fortune that she owed this revival 
 of youthful spirit and energy in middle 
 life. 
 
 " You and I must be friends," she said 
 to Monica, holding the girl's soft little 
 hand. " We are both black but comely." 
 
 The compliment to herself seemed the 
 most natural thing in the world. Monica 
 blushed with pleasure, and could not 
 help laughing. 
 
 It was all but decided that Monica 
 should become a pupil at the school in 
 Great Portland Street. In a brief 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 141 
 
 private conversation, Miss Barfoot offered 
 to lend her the money that might be 
 needfuL 
 
 " Nothing but a business transaction, 
 Miss Madden. You can give me security ; 
 you shall repay me at your convenience. 
 If, in the end, this occupation doesn't 
 please you, you will at all events have 
 regained health. It is clear to me that 
 you mustn't go on in that dreadful place 
 you described to Miss Nunn." 
 
 The visitors took their leave at about 
 five o'clock. 
 
 "Poor things! Poor things!" sighed 
 Miss Barfoot, when she was alone with 
 her friend. " What can we possibly do 
 for the older ones ? " 
 
 " They are excellent creatures," said 
 Phoda ; " kind, innocent women ; but 
 useful for nothing except what they have 
 done all their lives. The eldest can't 
 teach seriously, but she can keep young 
 children out of mischief and give them 
 
142 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 a nice way of speaking. Her health is 
 breaking down, you can see." 
 
 " Poor woman ! One of the saddest 
 types." 
 
 " Decidedly. Virginia isn't quite so 
 depressing — but how childish ! " 
 
 " They all strike me as childish. Monica 
 is a dear little girl ; it seemed a great 
 absurdity to talk to her about business. 
 Of course she must find a husband." 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 Rhoda's tone of slighting concession 
 amused her companion. 
 
 '' My dear, after all we don't desire the 
 end of the race." 
 
 '* No, I suppose not," Rhoda admitted 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " A word of caution. Your zeal is eating 
 you up. At this rate, you will hinder 
 our purpose. We have no mission to 
 prevent girls from marrying suitably, — 
 only to see that those who can't shall have 
 a means of living with some satisfaction." 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 143 
 
 " What chance is there that this girl 
 will marry suitably ? " 
 
 " Oh, who knows ? At all events, there 
 will be more likelihood of it if she comes 
 into our sphere." 
 
 " Really ? Do you know any man that 
 would dream of marrying her ? " 
 
 " Perhaps not, at present." 
 
 It was clear that Miss Barfoot stood in 
 some danger of becoming subordinate to 
 her more vehement friend. Her little 
 body, for all its natural dignity, put her 
 at a disadvantage in the presence of 
 Rhoda, who towered above her with rather 
 imperious stateliness. Her suavity was 
 no match for Rhoda's vigorous abruptness. 
 But the two were very fond of each other, 
 and by this time thought themselves able 
 safely to dispense with the forms at first 
 imposed by their mutual relations. 
 
 " If she marry at all," declared Miss 
 Nunn, " she will marry badly. The family 
 is branded. They belong to the class we 
 
144 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 know so well — with no social position, and 
 unable to win an individual one. I must 
 find a name for that ragged regiment." 
 
 Miss Barfoot regarded her friend 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Khoda, what comfort have you for the 
 poor in spirit ? " 
 
 " None whatever, I'm afraid. My mis- 
 sion is not to them." 
 
 After a pause, she added : 
 
 " They have their religious faith, I sup- 
 pose. — And it's answerable for a good deal." 
 
 '' It would be a terrible responsibility 
 to rob them of it," remarked the elder 
 woman gravely. 
 
 Hhoda made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 " It's a terrible responsibility to do 
 anything at all. But I'm glad" — she 
 laughed scornfully — " that it's not my task 
 to release them." 
 
 Mary Barfoot mused, a compassionate 
 shadow on her fine face. 
 
 " I don't think we can do without the 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 145 
 
 spirit of that religion," she said at length, 
 " the essential human spirit. These poor 
 women — one ought to be very tender with 
 them. I don't like your ' ragged regiment ' 
 phrase. When I grow old and melancholy, 
 I think I shall devote myself to poor 
 hopeless and purposeless women, — try to 
 warm their hearts a little before they go 
 hence." 
 
 "Admirable!" murmured Rhoda, smiling. 
 '' But in the meantime they cumber us; we 
 have to fight." 
 
 She threw forward her arms, as though 
 with spear and buckler. Miss Barfoot was 
 smilinof at this Palladian attitude when 
 a servant announced two ladies, Mrs. 
 Smallbrook and Miss Haven. They were 
 aunt and niece ; the former a tall, un- 
 gainly, sharp- featured widow ; the latter a 
 sweet-faced, gentle, sensible-looking girl of 
 five-and-twenty. 
 
 "I am so glad you are back again," 
 exclaimed the widow, as she shook hands 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 with Miss Barfoot, speaking in a hard, un- 
 sympathetic voice. ''I do so want to ask 
 your advice about an interesting girl who 
 has applied to me. I'm afraid her past 
 won't bear looking into, but most certainly 
 she is a reformed character. Winifred is 
 most favourably impressed with her — " 
 
 Miss Haven, the Winifred in question, 
 began to talk apart with Rhoda Nunn. 
 
 *' I do wish my aunt wouldn't ex- 
 aggerate so," she said in a subdued voice, 
 whilst Mrs. Smallbrook still talked loudly 
 and urgently. ''I never said that I was 
 favourably impressed. The girl protests 
 far too much ; she has played on aunt's 
 weaknesses, I fear." 
 
 '' But who is she ? " 
 
 " Oh, some one who lost her cha- 
 racter long ago, and lives, I should say, 
 on charitable people. Just because I said 
 that she must once have had a very nice 
 face, aunt misrepresents me in this way, — 
 it's too bad." 
 
A CAMP OF THE KESERVE. 147 
 
 *' Is she an educated person ? " Miss 
 Barfoot was heard to ask. 
 
 " Not precisely well educated." 
 
 " Of the lower classes, then 1 " 
 
 " I don't like that term, you know. Of 
 the poorer classes." 
 
 " She never was a lady," put in Miss 
 Haven, quietly but decidedly. 
 
 "Then I fear I can be of no use," said 
 the hostess, betraying some of her secret 
 satisfaction in being able thus to avoid 
 Mrs. Smallbrook's request. Winifred, a 
 pupil at Great Portland Street, was much 
 liked by both her teachers, but the aunt, 
 with her ceaseless philanthropy at other 
 people's expense, could only be considered 
 a bore. 
 
 " But surely you don't limit your 
 humanity. Miss Barfoot, by the artificial 
 divisions of society." 
 
 " 1 think those divisions are anything 
 but artificial," replied the hostess good- 
 humouredly. " In the uneducated classes 
 
 L 2 
 
148 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 I have no interest whatever. You have 
 heard me say so." 
 
 " Yes, but I cannot thmk — isn't that 
 just a little narrow V 
 
 " Perhaps so. I choose my sphere, 
 that's all. Let those work for the lower 
 classes (I must call them Iqwer, for they 
 are, in every sense), let those work for 
 them who have a call to do so. I have 
 none. I must keep to my own class." 
 
 " But surely. Miss Nunn," cried the 
 widow, turning to Rhoda, '^ we work for 
 the abolition of all unjust privilege ? To 
 us, is not a woman a woman ? " 
 
 " I am obliged to agree with Miss 
 Barfoot. I think that as soon as we begin 
 to meddle with uneducated people, all our 
 schemes and views are unsettled. We 
 have to learn a new language, for one 
 thing. But your missionary enterprise is 
 admirable." 
 
 " For my part," declared Mrs. Small- 
 brook, " I aim at the solidarity of woman. 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 149 
 
 You, at all events, ag-ree with me, Wini- 
 fred ? " 
 
 " I really don't think, aunt, that there 
 can be any solidarity of ladies with servant 
 girls," responded Miss Haven, encouraged 
 by a look from Rhoda. 
 
 " Then I grieve that your charity falls 
 so far below the Christian standard." 
 
 Miss Barfoot firmly guided the conversa- 
 tion to a more hopeful subject. 
 
 Not many people visited this house. 
 Every Wednesday evening, from half- past 
 eight to eleven. Miss Barfoot was at home 
 to any of her acquaintances, including her 
 pupils, who chose to call upon her ; but 
 this was in the nature of an association 
 with recognized objects. Of society in the 
 common sense Miss Barfoot saw very 
 little ; she had no time to sacrifice in 
 the pursuit of idle ceremonies. By 
 the successive deaths of two rela- 
 tives, a widowed sister and an uncle, 
 she had come into possession of a 
 
150 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 modest fortune ; but no thought of 
 a hfe such as would have suggested 
 itself to most women in her place ever 
 tempted her. Her studies had always 
 been of a very positive nature ; her 
 abilities were of a kind uncommon in 
 women, or at all events very rarely deve- 
 loped in one of her sex. She could have 
 managed a large and complicated business, 
 could have filled a place on a board of 
 directors, have taken an active part in 
 municipal government — nay, perchance in 
 national. And this turn of intellect con- 
 sisted with many traits of character so 
 strongly feminine that people who knew 
 her best thought of her with as much 
 tenderness as admiration. She did not 
 seek to become known as the leader of a 
 " movement," yet her quiet work was 
 probably more effectual than the pubHc 
 career of women who propagandize for 
 female emancipation. Her aim was to 
 draw from the overstocked profession of 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 151 
 
 teacliing as many capable young women as 
 she could lay hands on, and to fit them for 
 certain of the pursuits nowadays thrown 
 open to their sex. She held the conviction 
 that whatever man could do, woman could 
 do equally well — those tasks only excepted 
 which demand great physical strength. 
 At her instance, and with help from her 
 purse, two girls were preparing themselves 
 to be pharmaceutical chemists ; two others 
 had been aided by her to open a book- 
 seller's shop ; and several who had clerk- 
 ships in view received an admirable train- 
 ing at her school in Great Portland Street. 
 
 Thither every week-day morning Miss 
 Barfoot and Rhoda repaired ; they arrived 
 at nine o'clock, and with an hour's interval 
 work went on until five. 
 
 Entering by the private door of a 
 picture-cleaner's shop, they ascended to 
 the second story, where two rooms had 
 been furnished like comfortable ofHces ; 
 two smaller on the floor above served for 
 
152 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 dressing-rooms. In one of the offices, 
 type- writing and occasionally other kinds 
 of work tha.t demanded intelligence were 
 carried on by three or four young women 
 regularly employed ; to superintend this 
 department was Miss Nunn's chief duty, 
 together with business correspondence 
 under the principal's direction. In the 
 second room. Miss Barfoot instructed her 
 pupils, never more than three being with 
 her at a time. A bookcase full of works 
 on the Woman-question and allied topics 
 served as a circulating library ; volumes 
 were lent without charge to the members 
 of this little society. Once a month Miss 
 Barfoot or Miss Nunn, by turns, gave a 
 brief address on some set subject ; the 
 hour was four o'clock, and about a dozen 
 hearers generally assembled. Both worked 
 very hard. Miss Barfoot did not look 
 upon her enterprise as a source of 
 pecuniary profit, but she had made the 
 establishment more than self-supporting. 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 153 
 
 Her pupils increased in numl^er, and the 
 working department promised occupation 
 for a larger staff than was at present 
 engaged. The young women, in general, 
 answered their friend's expectations, but 
 of course there were disappointing in- 
 stances. One of these had caused Miss 
 Barfoot special distress. A young girl 
 whom she had released from a life of much 
 hardship, and who, after a couple of 
 months' trial, bade fair to develop note- 
 worthy ability, of a sudden disappeared. 
 She was without relatives in London, and 
 Miss Barfoot 's endeavours to find her 
 proved for several weeks futile. Then 
 came news of her ; she was living as the 
 mistress of a married man. Every effort 
 was made to bring her back, but the girl 
 resisted ; presently she again ]>assed out 
 of sight, and now more than a year had 
 elapsed since Miss Barfoot's last interview 
 with her. 
 
 This Monday morning, among letters 
 
154 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 delivered at the house, was one from the 
 strayed girl. Miss Barfoot read it in 
 private, and throughout the day remained 
 unusually grave. At five o'clock, when 
 staff and pupils had all departed, she sat 
 for a while in meditation, then spoke to 
 Rhoda, who was glancing oyer a book 
 by the window. 
 
 " Here's a letter I should like you 
 to read." 
 
 " Something that has been troubling 
 you since morning, isn't it ? " 
 
 '* Yes." 
 
 Rhoda took the sheet and quickly ran 
 through its contents. Her face hardened, 
 and she threw down the letter with a 
 smile of contempt. 
 
 " What do you advise 1 " asked the 
 elder woman, closely observing her. 
 
 " An answer in two lines — with a 
 cheque enclosed, if you see fit." 
 
 " Does that really meet the case ? " 
 
 " More than meets it, I should say." 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 155 
 
 Miss Barfoot pondered. 
 
 " I am doubtful. That is a letter of 
 despair, and I can't close my ears to it." 
 
 " You had an affection for the girl 
 Help her, by all means, if you feel com- 
 pelled to. But you would hardly dream 
 of taking her back again ? " 
 
 '' That's the point. Why shouldn't I ? " 
 
 " For one thing," replied Bhoda, looking 
 coldly down upon her friend, " you will 
 never do any good with her. For another, 
 she isn't a suitable companion for the girls 
 she would meet here." 
 
 " I can't be sure of either objection. 
 She acted with deplorable rashness, with 
 infatuation, but I never discovered any 
 sign of evil in her. Did you ? " 
 
 "Evil? Well, what does the word 
 mean ? I am not a puritan, and I don't 
 judge her as the ordinary woman would. 
 But 1 think she has put herself altogether 
 beyond our sympathy. She was twenty- 
 two years old, — no child, — and she acted 
 
156 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 with her eyes open. No deceit was 
 practised with her. She knew the man 
 had a wife, and she was base enough to 
 accept a share of his — attentions. Do 
 you advocate polygamy ? That is an 
 intelhgible position, I admit. It is one 
 way of meeting the social difficulty. But 
 not mine." 
 
 " My dear Rhoda, don't enrage yourself" 
 
 "I will try not to." 
 
 '' But I can't see the temptation to do 
 so. Come and sit down, and talk 
 quietly. — No, I have no fondness for 
 polygamy. I find it very hard to un- 
 derstand how she could act as she did. 
 But a mistake, however wretched, mustn't 
 condemn a woman for life. That's the 
 the way of the world, and decidedly it 
 mustn't be ours." 
 
 " On this point, T practically agree with 
 the world." 
 
 '' I see you do, and it astonishes me. 
 You are going through curious changes, in 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 157 
 
 several respects. A year ago you didn't 
 speak of her like this." 
 
 " Partly because I didn't know you well 
 enough to speak my mind. Partly — yes, 
 I have changed a good deal, no doubt. 
 But I should never have proposed to take 
 her by the hand and let bygones be 
 bygones. That is an amiable impulse, 
 but anti-social." 
 
 " A favourite word on your lips just 
 now, Rhoda. Why is it anti-social ? " 
 
 " Because one of the supreme social 
 needs of our day is the education of 
 women in self-respect and self-restraint. 
 There are plenty of people — men chiefly, 
 but a few women also of a certain tem- 
 perament — who cry for a reckless indi- 
 vidualism in these matters. They would 
 tell you that she behaved laudably, that 
 she was liviny out herself — and things of 
 that kind. But I didn't think you shared 
 such views." 
 
 " I don't, altogether. — ' The education 
 
158 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 of women in self-respect.' Very well. 
 Here is a poor woman whose self-respect 
 has given way under grievous temptation. 
 Circumstances have taught her that she 
 made a wild mistake. The man gives her 
 up, and bids her live as she can ; she is 
 reduced to beggary. Now, ir^ that position 
 a girl is tempted to sink still further. The 
 letter of two lines and an enclosed cheque 
 would as likely as not plunge her into 
 depths from which she could never be 
 rescued. It would assure her that there 
 was no hope. On the other hand, we 
 have it in our power to attempt that 
 very education of which you speak. She 
 has brains, and doesn't belong to the 
 vulgar. It seems to me that you are 
 moved by illogical impulses — and certainly 
 anything but kind ones." 
 
 Hhoda only grew more stubborn. 
 " You say she yielded to a grievous 
 temptation. What temptation ? Will it 
 bear putting into words ? " 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 159 
 
 " Oh yes, I think it will," answered Miss 
 Barfoot, with her gentlest smile. " She 
 fell in love with the man." 
 
 " Fell in love ! " Concentration of scorn 
 was in this echo. " Oh, for what isn't 
 that phrase responsible ! " 
 
 " Khoda, let me ask you a question on 
 which I have never ventured. Do you 
 know what it is to be in love ? " 
 
 Miss Nunn's strong features were moved 
 as if by a suppressed laugh ; the colour of 
 her cheeks grew very slightly warm. 
 
 " I am a normal human beinof," she 
 answered, with an impatient gesture. " I 
 understand perfectly well what the phrase 
 signifies." 
 
 " That is no answer, my dear. Have 
 you ever been in love with any man." 
 
 " Yes. When I was fifteen." 
 
 " And not since," rejoined the other, 
 sh akin o- her head and smilino^. "No, not 
 
 since ? 
 
 Thank heaven, no I " 
 
160 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " Then you are not very well able to 
 judge this case. I, on the other hand, can 
 judge it with the very largest understand- 
 ing. — Don't smile so witheringly, Rhoda. — 
 I shall neglect your advice for once." 
 
 " You will bring this girl back, and 
 continue teaching her as before ? " 
 
 " We have no one here that knows 
 her, and with prudence she need never be 
 talked about by those of our friends who 
 did." 
 
 '* Oh, weak — weak — weak ! " 
 "■ For once I must act independently." 
 " Yes, and at a stroke change the whole 
 character of your work. — You never pro- 
 posed keeping a reformatory. Your aim 
 is to help chosen girls, who promise to 
 be of some use in the world. This Miss 
 E-oyston represents the profitless average 
 — no, she is below the average. Are you 
 so blind as to imagine that any good 
 will ever come of such a person ? If 
 you wish to save her from the streets. 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVi:. KU 
 
 do so by all means. But to put her 
 among your chosen pupils is to threaten 
 your whole undertaking. Let it once 
 become known — and it ivould become 
 known — that a o^irl of that character 
 came here, and your usefulness is at an 
 end. In a year's time you will have to 
 choose between giving up the school 
 altogether, and making it a refuge for 
 outcasts.'' 
 
 Miss Barfoot was silent. She tapped 
 with her fingers on the table. 
 
 " Personal feeling is misleading you," 
 Rhoda pursued. " Miss Boyston had a 
 certain cleverness, I grant, but do you 
 think I didn't know that she would 
 never become what you hoped ? All her 
 spare time was given to novel- reading. 
 If every novelist could be strangled and 
 thrown into the sea, we should have 
 some chance of reformino- women. The 
 girl's nature was corrupted with senti- 
 mentality, like that of all but every 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 woman who is intelligent enough to read 
 what is called the best fiction, but not 
 intelligent enough to understand its vice. 
 Love — love — love; a sickening sameness of 
 vulgarity. What is more vulgar than the 
 ideal of novelists ? They won't represent 
 the actual world ; it would be too dull for 
 their readers. In real life, how many men 
 and women fall in love ? Not one in every 
 ten thousand, I am convinced. Not one 
 married pair in ten thousand have felt for 
 each other as two or three couples do in 
 every novel. There is the sexual instinct, 
 of course, but that is quite a different thing ; 
 the novelists daren't talk about that. The 
 paltry creatures daren't tell the one truth 
 that would be profitable. The result is 
 that women imagine themselves noble and 
 glorious when they are most near the 
 animals. This Miss Royston — when she 
 rushed off to perdition, ten to one she had 
 in mind some idiot heroine of a book. — Oh, 
 I tell you that you are losing sight of your 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 163 
 
 first duty. There are people enout^h to 
 act the good Samaritan ; you have quite 
 another task in life. It is your work to 
 train and encourage girls in a path as far 
 as possible from that of the husband- 
 hunter. Let them marry later, if they 
 must ; but at all events you will have 
 cleared their views on the subject of 
 marriage, and put them in a position to 
 judge the man who offers himself You 
 will have taught them that marriage is an 
 alliance of intellects, — not a means of 
 support, or something more ignoble still. 
 But to do this with effect you must show 
 yourself relentless to female imbecility. If 
 a girl gets to know that you have received 
 back such a person as Miss Royston, she 
 will be corrupted by your spirit of 
 charity, — corrupted, at all events, for our 
 purposes. The endeavour to give women 
 a new soul is so difficult that we can't be 
 cumbered by side-tasks, such as fishing 
 foolish people out of the mud they have 
 
 M 2 
 
164 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 walked into. Charity for human weak- 
 ness is all very well in its place, but it is 
 precisely one of the virtues that you must 
 not teach. You have to set an example of 
 the sterner qualities — to discourage any- 
 thing that resembles sentimentalism. 
 And think if you illustrate in your own 
 behaviour a sympathy for the very vice of 
 character we are trying our hardest to 
 extirpate ! " 
 
 " This is a terrible harangue," said Miss 
 Barfoot, when the passionate voice had 
 been silent for a few ticks of the clock. 
 " I quite enter into your point of view, but 
 I think you go beyond practical zeal. — 
 However, I will help the girl in some 
 other way, if possible." 
 
 '*I have offended you." 
 
 " Impossible to take offence at such 
 obvious sincerity." 
 
 *' But surely you grant the force of what 
 I say ? " 
 
 " We differ a good deal, Ehoda, on 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 165 
 
 certain })omts which us a rule would never 
 come up to interfere with our working in 
 harmony. You have come to dislike the 
 very thought of marriage — and everything 
 of that kind. I think it's a danger you 
 ought to have avoided. True, we wish to 
 prevent girls from marrying just for the 
 sake of being supported, and from degrad- 
 ing themselves as poor Bella Royston has 
 done ; but surely between ourselves we 
 can admit that the vast majority of 
 women would lead a wasted life if they did 
 not marry." 
 
 " I maintain that the vast majority of 
 women lead a vain and miserable life 
 just because they do marry." 
 
 " Don't you blame the institution of 
 marriage with what is chargeable to 
 human fate ? A vain and miserable life 
 is the lot of nearly all mortals. Most 
 women, whether they marry or not, will 
 suffer and commit endless follies." 
 
 " Most women — as life is at present 
 
166 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 arranged for them. Things are changing, 
 and we try to have our part in hastening 
 a new order." 
 
 " Ah, we use words in a different sense. 
 I speak of human nature, not of the efiPect 
 of institutions." 
 
 " Now it is you who are unpractical. 
 Those views lead only to pessimism and 
 paralysis of effort." 
 
 Miss Barfoot rose. 
 
 " I give in to your objection against 
 bringing the girl back to work here. I 
 will help her in other ways. It's quite 
 true that she isn't to be relied upon." 
 
 " Impossible to trust her in any detail 
 of life. The pity is that her degradation 
 can't be used as an object-lesson for our 
 other girls." 
 
 " There again we differ. You are quite 
 mistaken in your ideas of how the mind is 
 influenced. The misery of Bella Royston 
 would not in the least affect any other 
 girl's way of thinking about the destiny of 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 1 G7 
 
 her sex. We must avoid exaofireration. 
 If our friends get to tliink of us as fanatics, 
 all our usefulness is over. The ideal we 
 set u[) must be human. — Do you think 
 now that we know one single girl who in 
 her heart believes it is better never to love 
 and never to marry ? " 
 
 '• Perhaps not," admitted Rhoda, more 
 cheerful now that she had gained her 
 point. " But we know several who will 
 not dream of marrying unless reason urges 
 them as strongly as inclination." 
 
 Miss Barfoot laughed. 
 
 " Pray, who ever distinguished in such 
 a case between reason and inclination ? " 
 
 " You are most unusually sceptical to- 
 day," said E/hoda, with an impatient laugh. 
 
 " No, my dear. We happen to be 
 going to the root of things, that's all. 
 Perhaps it's as well to do so, now and then. 
 — Oh, I admire you immensely, Ehoda. 
 You are the ideal adversary of those care- 
 nothinsf and believe- nothino- women who 
 
168 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 keep the world back. But don't prepare 
 for yourself a woful disillusion." 
 
 " Take the case of Winifred Haven," 
 urged Miss Nunn. " She is a good-looking 
 and charming girl, and some one or other 
 will want to marry her some day, no doubt." 
 
 "Forgive my interrupting , you. There 
 is great doubt. She has no money but 
 what she can earn, and such girls, unless 
 they are exceptionally beautiful, are very 
 likely indeed to remain unsought." 
 
 " Granted. But let us suppose she 
 has an offer. Should you fear for her 
 prudence ? " 
 
 " Winifred has much good sense," ad- 
 mitted the other. " I think she is in as 
 little danger as any girl we know. But it 
 wouldn't startle me if she made the most 
 lamentable mistake. — Certainly I don't fear 
 it. The girls of our class are not like the 
 uneducated, who, for one reason or another, 
 will marry almost any man rather than 
 remain single. They have at all events 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERV^E. 1G9 
 
 personal delicacy. — Bat what I insist upon 
 is, that Winifred would rather marry than 
 not. And we must carefully bear that 
 fact in mind. A strained ideal is as bad, 
 practically, as no ideal at all. Only the 
 most exceptional girl will believe it her 
 duty to remain single as an example and 
 support to what we call the odd women; — 
 yet that is the most human way of urging 
 what you desire. By taking up the proud 
 position that a woman must be altogether 
 independent of sexual things, you damage 
 your cause. Let us be glad if we put a 
 few of them in the way of living single 
 with no more discontent than an unmarried 
 man experiences." 
 
 " Surely that's an unfortunate compari- 
 son," said Rhoda coldly. " What man 
 lives in celibacy ? Consider that unmen- 
 tionable fact, and then say whether I am 
 wrong in refusing to forgive Miss Royston. 
 Women's battle is not only against them- 
 selves. The necessity of the case demands 
 
170 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 what you call a strained ideal. — I am 
 seriously convinced that before the female 
 sex can be raised from its low level there 
 will have to be a wide-spread revolt against 
 sexual instinct. Christianity couldn't 
 spread over the world without help of the 
 ascetic ideal, and this great movement 
 for woman's emancipation must also have 
 its ascetics." 
 
 " I can't declare that you are wrong 
 in that. Who knows ? But it isn't gfood 
 policy to preach it to our young disciples." 
 
 " I shall respect your wish ; but — " 
 
 E,hoda paused and shook her head. 
 
 " My dear," said the elder woman 
 gravely, " believe me that the less we talk 
 or think about such things, the better 
 for the peace of us all. The odious fault 
 of working-class girls, in town and country 
 alike, is that they are absorbed in pre- 
 occupation with their animal nature. We, 
 thanks to our education and the tone of 
 our society, manage to keep that in the 
 
A CAMP OF THE RESERVE. 171 
 
 background. Don't interfere with this 
 satisfactory state of things. Be content 
 to show our girls that it is their duty to 
 lead a Hfe of effort — to earn their bread 
 and to cultivate their minds. Simply 
 ignore marriage — that's the wisest. Be- 
 have as if the thing didn't exist. You 
 will do positive harm by taking the other 
 course — the aggressive course."- 
 
 •' I shall obey you." 
 
 " Good, humble creature ! " laughed Miss 
 Barfoot. " Come, let us be oft* to Chelsea. — 
 Did Miss Grey finish that copy for Mr. 
 Houghton ? " 
 
 " Yes, it has gone to post." 
 
 '' Look, here's a big manuscript from 
 our friend the antiquary. Two of the 
 girls must get to work on it at once in 
 the morning." 
 
 Manuscripts entrusted to them were 
 kept in a fire-proof safe. When this had 
 been locked up, the ladies went to their 
 dressing-room and prepared for departure. 
 
172 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 The people who Hved on the premises were 
 responsible for cleaning the rooms and 
 other care ; to them Rhoda delivered the 
 door-keys. 
 
 Miss Barfoot was grave and silent on 
 the way home. Rhoda, annoyed at the 
 subject that doubtless occupied her friend's 
 thoughts, gave herself up to reflections of 
 her own. 
 
VII. 
 
 A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 
 
 A week's notice to her employers would 
 
 release Monica from the engagement in 
 
 Walworth Road ; such notice must be 
 
 given on Monday, so that, if she could at 
 
 once make up her mind to accept Miss 
 
 Barfoot's offer, the coming week would be 
 
 her last of slavery behind the counter. 
 
 On the way home from Queen's Hoad, 
 
 Alice and Virginia pressed for immediate 
 
 decision ; they were unable to comprehend 
 
 how Monica could hesitate for another 
 
 moment. The question of her place of 
 
 abode had already been discussed ; one of 
 
 Miss Barfoot's young women, who lived 
 
 at a convenient distance from Great 
 
174 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Portland Street, would gladly accept a 
 partner in her lodging, an arrangement 
 to be recommended for its economy. Yet 
 Monica shrank from speaking the final 
 word. 
 
 " I don't know whether it's worth 
 while," she said, after a long silence, as 
 they drew near to York Road Station, 
 whence they were to take train for 
 Clapham Junction. 
 
 " Not worth while ? " exclaimed Virginia. 
 '' You don't think it would be an 
 improvement ? " 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it would. — I shall see 
 how I feel about it to-morrow morning." 
 
 She spent the evening at Lavender Hill, 
 but without change in the mood thus 
 indicated. A strange inquietude appeared 
 in her behaviour. It was as thouofh she 
 were being urged to undertake something 
 hard and repugnant. 
 
 On her return to Walworth Eoad, 
 just as she came within sight of the shop, 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 175 
 
 she observed a man's figure, some twenty 
 yards distant, wliich instantly held her 
 attention. The dim gas-light occasioned 
 some uncertainty, but slie believed the 
 figure was that of Widdowson. He was 
 walking on the other side of the street, 
 and away from her. When the man was 
 exactly opposite Scotchers' establishment, 
 he gazed in that direction, but without 
 stopping. Monica hastened, fearing to be 
 seen and approached. Already she had 
 reached the door, when Widdowson — ves, 
 he it was — turned abruptly to walk back 
 again. His eye was at once upon her, but 
 whether he recognized her or not Monica 
 could not know ; at that moment she 
 opened the door and passed in. 
 
 A ht of trembling seized her, as if she 
 had barely escaped some peril. In the 
 passage she stood motionless, listening 
 with the intensity of dread. She could 
 hear footsteps on the pavement ; she 
 expected a ring at the door- bell. If he 
 
176 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 were so thoughtless as to come to the 
 door, she would on no account see him. 
 
 But there was no ring, and after a few 
 minutes' waiting she recovered her self- 
 command. She had not made a mistake ; 
 even his features had been discernible as he 
 turned towards her. Was this the first 
 time that he had come to look at the 
 place where she lived — possibly to spy 
 upon her ? She resented this behaviour, 
 yet the feeling was confused with a 
 certain satisfaction. 
 
 From one of the dormitories there was a 
 view of Walworth Road. She ran up- 
 stairs, softly opened the door of that room 
 and peeped in. The low burning gas 
 showed her that only one bed had an 
 occupant, who appeared to be asleep. 
 Softly she went to the window, drew the 
 blind aside, and looked down into the 
 street. But Widdowson had disappeared. 
 He might of course be on this side of 
 the way. 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 177 
 
 " Who's that ? " suddenly asked a voice 
 from the occupied bed. 
 
 The speaker was Miss Eade. Monica 
 looked at her, and nodded. 
 
 " You ? What are you domg here ? " 
 " I wanted to see if some one was stand- 
 ing outside." 
 
 " You mean him ? " 
 
 The other nodded. 
 
 " I've got a beastly headache. I 
 couldn't hold myself up, and I had to come 
 home at eight o'clock. There's such pains 
 all down my back too. — I shan't stay at 
 this beastly place much longer. I don't 
 want to get ill, like Miss Radford. Some- 
 body went to see her at the hospital this 
 afternoon, and she's awfully bad. — Well, 
 have you seen him ? " 
 
 " He's o^one — sfood-niofht." 
 
 And Monica left the room. 
 
 Next day she notified her intention of 
 leaving her employment. No questions 
 were asked ; she was of no particular 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 importance ; fifty, or, for the matter of that 
 ^ve score, young women equally capable 
 could be found to fill her place 
 
 On Tuesday morning there came a 
 letter from Virginia, a few lines requesting 
 her to meet her sisters, as soon as possible 
 after closing time that evening, in front of 
 the shop. " We have something veiy 
 delightful to tell you. We do hope 
 you gave notice to-day, as things are 
 getting so bright in every direction." 
 
 At a quarter to ten she was able to run 
 out, and close at hand were the two 
 eagerly awaiting her. 
 
 " Mrs. Darby has found a place for 
 Alice," began Virginia. " We heard by 
 the afternoon post yesterday. A lady at 
 Yatton wants a governess for two young 
 children. Isn't it fortunate ? " 
 
 " So delightfully convenient for what we 
 were thinking of," put in the eldest, with 
 her croaking voice. " Nothing could have 
 been better." 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 1 70 
 
 " You mean about the school ? " said 
 Monica dreamily. 
 
 " Yes, the scliool," Virginia replied, with 
 trembling earnestness. '* Yatton is con- 
 venient both for Clevedon and Weston. 
 Alice will be able to run over to both 
 places, and make inquiries, and ascertain 
 where the best opening would be." 
 
 Miss Nunn's suggestion, hitherto but 
 timidly discussed, had taken hold upon 
 their minds as soon as Alice received the 
 practical call to her native region. Both 
 were enthusiastic for the undertaking. It 
 aflPorded them a novel subject of conversa- 
 tion, and inspirited them by seeming to 
 restore their self-respect. After all, they 
 miofht have a mission, a task in the world. 
 They pictured themselves the heads of a 
 respectable and thriving establishment, 
 with subordinate teachers, with pleasant 
 social relations ; they felt young again, 
 and capa.ble of indefinite activity. Why 
 had they not thought of this long ago ? 
 
 N 2 
 
180 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 and thereupon they reverted to antistrophic 
 laudation of E/hoda Nunn. 
 
 "Is it a good place ? " their younger 
 sister inquired. 
 
 " Oh, pretty good. Only twelve pounds 
 a year, but nice people, Mrs. Darby says. 
 They want me at once, and it is very 
 likely that in a few weeks I shall go with 
 them to the seaside." 
 
 " What could have been better ? " cried 
 Virginia. " Her health will be established, 
 and in half a year, or less, we shall be 
 able to come to a decision about the great 
 step. — -Oh, and have you given notice, 
 darling ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have." 
 
 Both clapped their hands like children. 
 It was an odd little scene on the 
 London pavement at ten o'clock at night ; 
 so intimately domestic amid surroundings 
 the very antithesis of domesticity. Only 
 a few yards away, a girl to whom the 
 pavement was a place of commerce stood 
 
A SOCIAT. ADVANCE. 1 8 1 
 
 laughing with two men ; the sound of lier 
 voice hinted to Monica the advisability of 
 walking' as they conversed, and they 
 moved towards Walworth Road Station. 
 
 " We thought at first," said Virginia, 
 " that when Alice had gone you might 
 like to share my room ; but then the 
 distance from Great Portland Street would 
 be a decided objection. I might move, 
 but we doubt whether that would be 
 worth while. It is so comfortable v/ith 
 Mrs. Conisbee, and for the sliort remaining 
 time — Christmas, I should think, would be 
 a very good time for opening. If it were 
 possible to decide upon dear old Clevedon, 
 of course we should prefer it ; but perhaps 
 Weston will oflPer more scope. Alice will 
 weigh all the arguments on the spot. — 
 Don't you envy her, Monica ? Think of 
 beintr there in this summer weather ! " 
 
 "Why don't you go as well?" Monica 
 asked. 
 
 " I ? And take lodgings, you mean ? 
 
182 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 We never thought of that. — But we still 
 have to consider expenditure very seriously, 
 you know. If possible, I must find employ- 
 ment for the rest of the year. Remember 
 how very likely it is that Miss Nunn will 
 have something to suggest for me. And 
 then I think it will be of so much practical 
 use for me to see her frequently for a few 
 weeks. Already I have learnt so much 
 from her and from Miss Barfoot. Their con- 
 versation is so encouraging. I feel that it 
 is a training of the mind to be in contact 
 with them." 
 
 "Yes, I quite share that view," said Alice, 
 with tremulous earnestness. " Virginia 
 can reap much profit from intercourse with 
 them. They have the new ideas in educa- 
 tion, and it would be so good if our school 
 began with the advantage of quite a 
 modern system." 
 
 Monica became silent. When her sisters 
 had talked in the same strain for a 
 quarter of an hour, she said absently : 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 183 
 
 "I wrote to Miss Barfoot last night, so 
 I suppose I shall be able to move to those 
 lodgings next Sunday." 
 
 It was eleven o'clock before they parted. 
 Having taken leave of her sisters near the 
 station, Monica turned to walk quickly 
 home. She had gone about half the way, 
 when her name was spoken just behind 
 her, in Widdowson's voice. She stopped, 
 and there stood the man, offering his 
 hand. 
 
 " Why are you here at this time ? " she 
 asked, in an unsteady voice. 
 
 "Not by chance. — I had a hope that I 
 might see you." 
 
 He was gloomy, and looked at her 
 searchingly. 
 
 " I mustn't wait to talk now, Mr. 
 Widdowson. It's very late." 
 
 " Very late indeed. — It surprised me to 
 see you." 
 
 " Surprised you ? Why should it ? " 
 
184 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " I mean that it seemed so very unlikely 
 — at this hour." 
 
 " Then how could you have hoped to see 
 me?" 
 
 Monica walked on, with an air of dis- 
 pleasure, and Widdowson kept beside her, 
 incessantly eyeing her countenance. 
 
 " No, I didn't really think of seeing 
 you. Miss Madden. I wished to be near 
 the place where you were, that was all." 
 
 " You saw me come out, I dare say." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " If you had done, you would have 
 known that I came to meet two ladies, my 
 sisters. I walked with them to the station, 
 and now I am going home. You seem to 
 think an explanation necessary — " 
 
 " Do forgive me ! What right have I 
 to ask anything of the kind ? — But I have 
 been very restless since Sunday. I wished 
 so to meet you, if only for a few minutes. — 
 Only an hour or two ago I posted a letter 
 to you." 
 
A SOCIAL ADV^VNCE. 185 
 
 Monica said nothing. 
 
 " It was to ask you to meet me next 
 Sunday, as we arranged. Shall you be 
 able to do so ? " 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't. At the end of 
 this week I leave my place here, and on 
 Sunday I shall be moving to another 
 part of London." 
 
 "You are leaving ? You have decided 
 to make the change you spoke of ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And will you tell me Avliere you are 
 going to live ? " 
 
 " In lodgings near Great Portland Street. 
 I must say good night, Mr. Widdowson. 
 I must, indeed." 
 
 " Please — do oive me one moment ! " 
 
 o 
 
 " I can't stay — I can't — good night ! " 
 It was impossible for him to detain 
 her. Ungracefully he caught at his hat, 
 made the salute, and moved away with 
 rapid, uneven strides. In less than half 
 an hour he was back again at this spot. 
 
186 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 He walked past the shop many times, 
 without pausing ; his eyes devoured the 
 front of the building, and noted those 
 windows in which there was a glimmer of 
 light. He saw girls enter by the private 
 door, but Monica did not again show 
 herself Some time after midnight, when 
 the house had long been dark and per- 
 fectly quiet, the uneasy man took a last 
 look, and then sought a cab to convey him 
 home. 
 
 The letter of which he had spoken 
 reached Monica's hands next morning. 
 It was a very respectful invitation to 
 accompany the writer on a drive in 
 Surrey. Widdowson proposed to meet 
 her at Heme Hill railway station, where 
 his vehicle would be waiting. " In passing, 
 I shall be able to point out to you the 
 house which has been my home for about 
 a year." 
 
 As circumstances were, it would be 
 hardly possible to accept this invitation 
 
A SOCIAL ADV^ANCE. 187 
 
 without exciting curiosity in her sisters. 
 The Sunday morning would be occupied, 
 probably, in going to the new lodgings 
 and making the acquaintance of her future 
 companion there ; in the afternoon, her 
 sisters were to pay her a visit, as Alice 
 had decided to start for Somerset on the 
 Monday. She must write a refusal, but it 
 was by no means her wish to discourage 
 Widdowson altoofether. The note which 
 at lenofth satisfied her ran thus : 
 
 " Dear Mr. Widdowson, 
 
 " 1 am very sorry that it will be 
 impossible for me to see you next Sunday. 
 All day I shall be occupied. My eldest 
 sister is leaving London, and Sunday will 
 be my last day with her, perhaps for a 
 long time. Please do not think that I 
 make light of your kindness. When I am 
 settled in my new life, I hope to be able 
 to let you know how it suits me. 
 " Sincerely yours, 
 
 " Monica Madden." 
 
188 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 In a postscript she mentioned her new 
 address. It was written in very small 
 characters — perhaps an unpurposed indi- 
 cation of the misgiving with which she 
 allowed herself to pen the words. 
 
 Two days went by, and again a letter 
 from Widdowson was delivered. 
 
 " Dear Miss Madden, 
 
 " My chief purpose in writing again 
 so soon is to apologize sincerely for my 
 behaviour on Tuesday evening. It was 
 quite unjustifiable. The best way of con- 
 fessing my fault is to own that I had a 
 foolish dislike of your walking in the 
 streets unaccompanied at so late an hour. 
 I believe that any man who had newly 
 made your acquaintance, and had thought 
 as much about you as I have, would have 
 experienced the same feeling. The life 
 which made it impossible for you to see 
 friends at any other time of the day was 
 so evidently unsuited to one of your re- 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 189 
 
 finemeiit that I wus made angry by the 
 thought of it. Ha^^pily it is coming to 
 an end, and T shall be greatly relieved 
 when I know that you have left the house 
 of business. 
 
 " You remember that we are to be 
 friends. I should be much less than your 
 friend if I did not desire for you a position 
 very different from that which necessity 
 forced upon you. Thank you very nmch 
 for the promise to tell me how you like 
 the new employment, and your new 
 friends. Shall you not henceforth be 
 at leisure on other days besides Sunday ? 
 As you will now be near Regent's Park, 
 perhaps I may hope to meet you there 
 some evening before long. I would go 
 any distance to see you and speak with 
 you for only a few minutes. 
 
 " Do forgive my impertinence, and be- 
 lieve me, dear Miss Madden, 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " Edmund Widdowson." 
 
190 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Now this undoubtedly might be con- 
 sidered a love-letter, and it was the first 
 of its kind that Monica had ever received. 
 No man had ever written to her that 
 he was willing to go " any distance " 
 for the reward of looking on her face. 
 She read the composition many times, and 
 with many thoughts. It did not enchant 
 her ; presently she felt it to be dull and 
 prosy — anything but the ideal of a love- 
 letter, even at this early stage. 
 
 The remarks concerning Widdowson 
 made in the bedroom by the girl who 
 fancied her asleep had greatly disturbed 
 her conception of him. He was old, and 
 looked still older to a casual eye. He had 
 a stiff dry way, and already had begun to 
 show how precise and exacting he could be. 
 A year or two ago the image of such a man 
 would have repelled her. She did not 
 think it possible to regard him with warm 
 feelings ; yet, if he asked her to marry 
 him, — and that seemed likely to happen 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 191 
 
 very soon, — almost certainly her answer 
 would be yes. Provided, of course, that 
 all he had told her about himself could 
 be in some satisfactory way confirmed. 
 
 Her acquaintance with him was an 
 extraordinary thing. With what amaze- 
 ment and rapture would any one of her 
 shop companions listen to the advances 
 of a man who had six huiidred a year ! 
 Yet Monica did not doubt his truthful- 
 ness and the honesty of his intentions. 
 His life-story sounded credible enough, 
 and the very dryness of his manner 
 inspired confidence. As things went in 
 the marriage war, she might esteem her- 
 self a most fortunate young woman. It 
 seemed that he had really fallen in love 
 with her; he might prove a devoted 
 husband. She felt no love in return ; 
 but between the prospect of a marriage 
 of esteem and that of no marriaofe at all 
 there was little room for hesitation. The 
 chances were that she micrht never acrain 
 
192 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 receive an offer frora a man whose social 
 standing she could respect. 
 
 In the meantime there had come a 
 civil little note from the girl whose rooms 
 she was to share. " Miss Barfoot has 
 spoken of you so favourably, that I did 
 not think it necessary to see you before 
 consenting" to what she suggested. Per- 
 haps she has told you that I have my 
 own furniture ; it is very plain, but, I 
 think, comfortable. For the two rooms, 
 with attendance, I pay eight and sixpence 
 a week ; my landlady will ask eleven 
 shillings when there are two of us, so 
 that your share would be five-and-six. I 
 hope you won't think this too much. I 
 am a quiet and I think a very reasonable 
 person." The signature was "Mildred H. 
 Vesper." 
 
 The day of release arrived. As it poured 
 with rain all the morning, Monica the less 
 regretted that she had been obliged to 
 postpone her meeting with Widdowson. 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCP]. 193 
 
 At breakfast time she said t^ood-bye to 
 the three or four girls in whom she had 
 any interest. Miss Eade was delighted to 
 see her go ; this rival finally out of the 
 way, Mr. Bullivant might perchance turn 
 his attention to the fldthful admirer who 
 remained. 
 
 Slie went by train to Great Portland 
 Street, and thence by cab, with her two 
 boxes, to Rutland Street, Hampstead 
 Koad — an uphill little street of small 
 houses. When the cab stopped, the door 
 of the house she souglit at once opened, 
 and on the threshold appeared a short, 
 prim, plain-featured girl, who smiled a 
 welcome. 
 
 "You are Miss Vesper ? " Monica said, 
 approaching her. 
 
 '' Yes, — very pleased to see you, Miss 
 Madden. As London cabmen have a 
 narrow view of their duties, I'll help you 
 to get the boxes in." 
 
 Monica liked the girl at once. Jehu 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
194 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 condescending to hand down the luggage, 
 they transferred it to the foot of the 
 staircase, then, the fare having been paid, 
 went up to the second floor, which was 
 the top of the house. Miss Vesper's two 
 rooms were very humble, but homely ; she 
 looked at Monica to remark the impression 
 produced by them. 
 
 " Will it do ? " 
 
 '* Oh, very nicely indeed. After my 
 quarters in Walworth Road ! — But I feel 
 ashamed to intrude upon you." 
 
 " I have been trying to find some one to 
 share my rent," said the other, with a 
 simple frankness that was very agreeable. 
 " Miss Barfoot was full of your praises — 
 and indeed I think we may suit each 
 other." 
 
 " I shall try to be as little disturbance 
 to you as possible." 
 
 ''And I, to you. — The street is a very 
 quiet one. Up above here is Cumberland 
 Market ; a hay and straw market. Quite 
 
A SOCIAL advancp:. 195 
 
 pleasant odours, country odours, reach us 
 on market day. I am country -bred ; 
 that's why I speak of such a trifle." 
 
 '* So am I," said Monica. " I come from 
 Somerset." 
 
 " And I from Hampshire. Do you 
 know, I have a strong suspicion that all 
 the really nice girls in London are country 
 girls." 
 
 Monica had to look at the speaker to 
 be sure that this was said in pleasantry. 
 Miss Vesper was fond of making dry little 
 jokes in the gravest tone ; only a twinkle 
 of her eyes and a movement of her tight 
 little lips betrayed her. 
 
 " Shall I ask the landlady to help me up 
 with the luggage ? " 
 
 " You are rather pale, Miss Madden. 
 Better let me see to that. I have to go 
 down to remind Mrs. Hocking to put salt 
 into the saucepan with the potatoes. She 
 cooks for me only on Sunday, and if I 
 didn't remind her every week she would 
 
 O 2 
 
196 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 boil the potatoes without salt. Such a 
 state of mind is curious, but one ends by 
 accepting it as a fact in nature." 
 
 They joined in merry laughter. When 
 Miss Vesper gave way to open mirth, she 
 enjoyed it so thoroughly that it was a 
 delight to look at her. 
 
 By the time dinner was over, they 
 were on excellent terms and had ex- 
 changed a great deal of personal informa- 
 tion. Mildred Vesper seemed to be one of 
 the most contented of young women. She 
 had sisters and brothers, whom she loved, 
 all scattered about England in pursuit of a 
 livelihood ; it was rare for any two of 
 them to see each other, but she spoke of 
 this as quite in the order of things. For 
 Miss Barfoot her respect was unbounded. 
 
 " She has made more of me than anv one 
 else could have done. When I first met 
 her, three years ago, I was a simpleton ; I 
 thought myself ill-used because I had to 
 work hard for next to no payment and 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 197 
 
 live in solitude. Now I should be 
 ashamed to complain of what falls to the 
 lot of thousands of girls." 
 
 " Do you like Miss Nunn ? " asked 
 Monica. 
 
 " Not so well as Miss Barfoot, but I think 
 very highly of her. Her zeal makes her 
 exaggerate a little now and then, but then 
 the zeal is so splendid. I haven't it myself 
 — not in that form." 
 
 " You mean — ? " 
 
 " I mean that I feel a shameful delight 
 when I hear of a girl getting married. It's 
 very weak, no doubt ; perhaps I shall im- 
 prove as I grow older. But I have half a 
 suspicion, do you know, that Miss Barfoot 
 is not without the same weakness." 
 
 Monica laughed, and spoke of something 
 else. She was in good spirits ; already 
 her companion's view of life l)egan to have 
 an effect upon her ; she thought of people 
 and things in a more lightsome way, and 
 was less disposed to conuniserate herself. 
 
198 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 The bedroom which both were to occupy 
 might with advantage have been larger, 
 but they knew that many girls of instinct 
 no less delicate than their own had to 
 endure far worse accommodation in London, 
 — where poverty pays for its sheltered 
 breathing-space at so much a square foot. 
 It was only of late that Miss Vesper had 
 been able to buy furniture (four sovereigns 
 it cost in all), and thus to allow herself 
 the luxury of two rooms at the rent she 
 previously paid for one. Miss Barfoot 
 did not remunerate her workers on 
 a philanthropic scale, but strictly in 
 accordance with market prices ; common 
 sense dictated this principle. In talking 
 over their arrangements, Monica decided 
 to expend a few shillings on the purchase 
 of a chair-bedstead for her own use. 
 
 "I often have nightmare," she re- 
 marked, "and kick a great deal. It 
 wouldn't be nice to give you bruises." 
 
 A week passed. Alice had written from 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 199 
 
 Yatton, and in a cheerful tone. Virginia, 
 chronically excited, had made calls at 
 Rutland Street and at Queen's Road ; she 
 talked like one who had suddenly received 
 a great illumination, and her zeal in the 
 cause of independent womanhood rivalled 
 Miss Nunn's. Without enthusiasm, but 
 seemingly contented, Monica worked at 
 the type-writing machine, and had begun 
 certain studies which her friends judged 
 to be useful. She experienced a growth 
 of self-respect. It was much to have 
 risen above the status of shop-girl, and 
 the change of moral atmosphere had a 
 very beneficial effect upon her. 
 
 Mildred Vesper was a studious little 
 person, after a fashion of her own. She 
 possessed four volumes of Maunder's 
 " Treasuries," and to one or other of these 
 she applied herself for at least an hour 
 every evening. 
 
 " By nature," she said, when Monica 
 sought an explanation of this study, " my 
 
200 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 mind is frivolous. What I need is a store 
 of solid information, to reflect upon. No 
 one could possibly have a worse memory, 
 but by persevering I manage to learn one 
 or two facts a day." 
 
 Monica glanced at the books now and 
 then, but had no desire to cultivate 
 Maunder's acquaintance. Instead of read- 
 ing, she meditated the problems of her 
 own life. 
 
 Edmund Widdowson of course wrote to 
 her at the new address ; in her reply she 
 again postponed their meeting. Whenever 
 she went out in the evening, it was with 
 expectation of seeing him somewhere in 
 the neighbourhood ; she felt assured that 
 he had long ago come to look at the 
 house, and more likely than not his eyes 
 had several times been upon her. That 
 did not matter ; her life was innocent, 
 and Widdowson might watch her coming 
 and going as much as he would. 
 
 At length, about nine o'clock one even- 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 201 
 
 iiif, she came face to face with him. It 
 was in Hampstead Road ; she had been 
 buying at a drapers, and carried the 
 little parceL At the moment of recog- 
 nition, Widdowson's face so flushed and 
 brightened that Monica could not help a 
 sympathetic feeling of pleasure. 
 
 " Why are you so cruel to me ? " he 
 said in a low voice, as she gave her hand. 
 " What a time since I saw you ! " 
 
 " Is that really true ? " she replied, with 
 an air more resembling coquetry than any 
 he had yet seen in her. 
 
 " Since I spoke to you, then." 
 
 " When did you see me ? " 
 
 " Three evenino-s asfo. You were walk- 
 ing in Tottenham Court Road, with a 
 young lady." 
 
 " Miss Vesper, the friend I live with." 
 
 " Will you give me a few minutes now?" 
 he asked humbly. " Is it too late ? " 
 
 For reply, Monica moved slowly on. 
 They turned up one of the ways parallel 
 
202 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 with Rutland Street, and so came into the 
 quiet district that skirts Regent's Park, 
 Widdowson talking all the way in a strain 
 of all but avowed tenderness, his head bent 
 towards her and his voice so much subdued 
 that occasionally she lost a few words. 
 
 " I can't live without seeing you," he 
 said at length. '' If you refuse to meet 
 me, I have no choice but to come wan- 
 dering about the places where you are. 
 Don't, pray don't think I spy upon you. 
 Indeed, it is only just to see your face, 
 or your form as you walk along. When 
 I have had my journey in vain I go back 
 in misery. You are never out of my 
 thoughts — never." 
 
 '' I am sorry for that, Mr. Widdowson." 
 
 " Sorry ? — Are you really sorry ? Do 
 you think of me with less friendliness 
 than when we had our evening on the 
 river ? 
 
 " Oh, not with less friendliness. But if 
 I only make you unhappy" — 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 203 
 
 " In one way unhap23y, but as no one 
 else ever had the power to. If you would 
 let me meet you at certain times, my 
 restlessness would be at an end. The 
 summer is going so quickly. Won't you 
 come for that drive with me next 
 Sunday ? I will be waiting for you at 
 any place you like to appoint ? — If you 
 could imagine what joy it would give 
 me!" 
 
 Presently Monica assented. If it Avere 
 fine, she would be by the south-east 
 entrance to Eegent's Park at two o'clock. 
 He thanked her with words of the most 
 submissive gratitude, and then they 
 parted. 
 
 The day proved doubtful, but she kept 
 her appointment. Widdowson was on the 
 spot with horse and trap ; these were not, 
 as he presently informed Monica, his own 
 property, but hired from a livery-stable, 
 according to his custom. 
 
 " It won't rain," he exclaimed, gazing at 
 
204 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 the sky. " It sha'nt rain ! These few 
 hours are too precious to me." 
 
 " It would be very awkward if it did,'' 
 Monica replied, in merry humour, as they 
 drove along-. 
 
 The sky threatened till sundown, but 
 Widdowson was able to keep declaring 
 that rain would not come. He took a 
 south-westward course, crossed Waterloo 
 Bridge, and thence by the highways made 
 for Heme Hill. Monica observed that he 
 made a short detour to avoid Walworth 
 Road ; she asked his reason. 
 
 "I hate the road !" Widdowson answered, 
 with vehemence. 
 
 " You hate it ? " 
 
 " Because you slaved and suffered there. 
 If I had the power, I would destroy it — 
 every house. Many a time," he added, in 
 a lower voice, " when you were lying 
 asleep, I walked up and down there, in 
 horrible misery." 
 
 " Just because I had to stand at a 
 counter ? " 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 205 
 
 " Not only that. It wasn't fit for you 
 to work in that way, — but the people 
 about you ! I hated every face of man or 
 woman that passed along the street." 
 
 " I didn't like the society." 
 
 '' I should hope not. — Of course, I know 
 you didn't. Why did you ever come to 
 such a place ? " 
 
 There was severity rather than sym- 
 pathy in his look. 
 
 " I was tired of the dull country life," 
 Monica replied frankly. " And then I 
 didn't know what the shops and the 
 people were like." 
 
 " Do you need a life of excitement ? " he 
 asked, with a sidelong glance. 
 
 " Excitement I — No, but one must have 
 chanofe. 
 
 
 When they reached Heme Hill, Wid- 
 dowson became silent, and presently he 
 allowed the horse to walk. 
 
 " That is my house, Miss Madden, — the 
 right-hand one." 
 
206 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Monica looked, and saw two little villas, 
 built together, with stone facings, porches 
 at the doors, and ornamented gables. 
 
 '* I only wanted to show it you," he 
 added quickly. " There's nothing pretty 
 or noticeable about it, and it isn't at all 
 grandly furnished. My old housekeeper 
 and one servant manage to keep it in 
 order." 
 
 They passed, and Monica did not allow 
 herself to look back. 
 
 " I think it's a nice house," she said 
 presently. 
 
 " All my life I have wished to have a 
 house of my own, but I didn't dare to 
 hope I ever should. Men in general don't 
 seem to care so long as they have lodgings 
 that suit them, — I mean unmarried men. 
 But I always wanted to live alone — with- 
 out strangers, that is to say. I told you 
 that I am not very sociable. — When I got 
 my house, I was like a child with a toy ; 
 I couldn't sleep for satisfaction. I used to 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 207 
 
 walk all over it, day after day, before it 
 was furnished. There was something that 
 delighted me in the sound of my footsteps 
 on the staircases and the bare floors. 
 Here I shall live and die, I kept saying to 
 myself Not in solitude, I hoped. Per- 
 haps I might meet some one — " 
 
 Monica interrupted him to ask a question 
 about some object in the landscape. He 
 answered her very briefly, and for a long 
 time neither spoke. Then the girl, 
 glancing at him with a smile of apology, 
 said in a (gentle tone : 
 
 " You were tellinu' me how the house 
 pleased you. Have you still the same 
 pleasure in living there ? " 
 
 " Yes. But lately I have been hoping 
 — -I daren't say more. You will interrupt 
 me again." 
 
 " Which way are we going now, Mr. 
 ^Viddowson ? " 
 
 *' To Streatham, then on to C'arshalton. 
 At five o'clock we will use our right as 
 
208 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 travellers, and get some innkeeper to make 
 tea for us. — Look, the smi is trying to 
 break through ; we shall have a fine 
 evening yet. — May I, without rudeness, 
 say that you look better since you left 
 that abominable place." 
 
 " Oh, I feel better." 
 
 After keeping his look fixed for a long 
 time on the horse's ears, Widdowson 
 turned gravely to his companion. 
 
 " I told you about my sister-in-law. 
 Would you be willing to make her 
 acquaintance '? " 
 
 " I don't feel able to do that, Mr. 
 Widdowson," Monica answered with 
 decision. 
 
 Prepared for this reply, he began a long 
 and urgent persuasion. It was useless ; 
 Monica listened quietly, but without sign 
 of yielding. The subject dropped, and 
 they talked of indifierent things. 
 
 On the homeward drive, w^hen the dull 
 sky grew dusk about them, and the 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 209 
 
 suburban street-lamps began to show 
 themselves m long glimmering lines, Wid- 
 dowson returned with shamefaced courage 
 to the subject which for some hours had 
 been in abeyance. 
 
 "I can't part from you this evening 
 without a word of hope to remember. You 
 know that I want you to be my wife. 
 Will you tell me if there is anything I can 
 say or do to make your consent possible ? — 
 Have you any doubt of me ? " 
 
 *' No doubt whatever of your sincerity." 
 " In one sense, I am still a stranger 
 to you. Will you give me the opportunity 
 of making things between us more regular? 
 Will you allow me to meet some friend of 
 yours whom you trust ? " 
 
 " I had rather you didn't yet." 
 "You wish to know still more of me, 
 personally 1 " 
 
 " Yes — I think I must know you much 
 better before I can consent to any step of 
 that kind." 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
210 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 "But," he urged, " if we became ac- 
 quaintances in the ordinary way, and 
 knew each other's friends, wouldn't that 
 be most satisfactory to you 1 " 
 
 " It might be. But you forget that so 
 much would have to be explained. I have 
 behaved very strangely. If I told every- 
 thing to my friends, I should leave myself 
 no choice." 
 
 " Oh, why not ] You would be ab- 
 solutely free. I could do no more than 
 try to recommend myself to you. If I 
 g^m so unhappy as to fail, how would you 
 be anything but quite free ] " 
 
 " But surely you must understand me. 
 In this position, I must either not speak of 
 you at all, or make it known that I am 
 engaged to you. I can't have it taken 
 for granted that I am engaged to you, 
 when I don't wish to be." 
 
 Widdowson's head drooped ; he set his 
 lips in a hard, gloomy expression. 
 
 " I have behaved very imprudently," 
 
A SOCIAL ADVANCE. 211 
 
 continued the girl. " But I don't see — 
 I can't see — what else I could have done. 
 Things are so badly arranged. It wasn't 
 possible for us to be introduced by any one 
 who knew us both, so I had either to 
 break off your acquaintance after that first 
 conversation, or conduct myself as I have 
 been doing. I think it's a very hard 
 position. My sisters would call me an 
 immodest girl, but I don't think it is 
 true. — I may perhaps come to feel for you 
 as a ijirl oug-ht to when she marries, and 
 how else can I tell unless I meet you and 
 talk with you ] — And your position is just 
 the same. I don't blame you for a 
 moment ; I think it would be ridiculous 
 to blame you. Yet we have gone against 
 the ordinary rule, and people would make 
 us suffer for it — or me, at all events." 
 
 Her voice at the close was uncertain. 
 Widdowson looked at her with eyes of 
 passionate admiration. 
 
 " Thank you for saying that — for 
 
 r 2 
 
212 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 putting it so well, and so kindly for me. 
 Let us disregard people, then. Let us go 
 on seeing each other. I love you with all 
 my soul " — he choked a little at this first 
 utterance of the solemn word — " and your 
 rules shall be mine. Give me a chance of 
 winning you. Tell me if I offend you in 
 anything — if there's anything you dislike 
 in me." 
 
 *' Will you cease coming to look for me 
 when I don't know of it '? " 
 
 " I promise you. I will never come 
 again. — And you will meet me a little 
 oftener 1 " 
 
 " I will see you once every week. But 
 I must still be perfectly free." 
 
 " Perfectly ! I will only try to win you 
 as any man may who loves a woman." 
 
 The tired horse clattered upon the hard 
 highway, and clouds gathered for a night 
 of storm. 
 
VIII. 
 
 COUSIN EVERARD. 
 
 As Miss Bar foot's eye fell on the letters 
 brought to her at breakfast time, she 
 uttered an exclamation, doubtful in its 
 significance. Hhoda Nunn, who rarely 
 had a letter from any one, looked up 
 inquiringly. 
 
 " I am greatly mistaken if that isn't 
 my cousin Everard's writing. — I thought 
 so. — He is in London." 
 
 Rhoda made no remark. 
 
 *' Pray read it," said the other, handing 
 her I'riend the epistle after she had gone 
 through it. 
 
 The handwriting was remarkably bold, 
 but careful. Punctuation was strictly 
 
214 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 attended to, and in places a Avord had 
 been obliterated with a circular scrawl 
 which left it still legible. 
 
 ''DEAR Cousin Mary, 
 
 " I hear that you are still active in 
 an original way, and that civilization is 
 more and more indebted to you. Since 
 my arrival in London a few weeks ago, I 
 have several times been on the point of 
 calHng at your house, but scruples with- 
 held me. Our last interview was not 
 quite friendly on your side, you will 
 remember, and perhaps your failure to 
 write to me means continued displeasure ; 
 in that case I might be rejected at your 
 door, which I shouldn't like, for I am 
 troubled with a fooUsh sense of personal 
 dignity. I have taken a flat, and mean 
 to stay in London for at least half a year. 
 Please let me know whether I may see 
 you. Indeed 1 should like to. Nature 
 meant us for good friends, but prejudice 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 215 
 
 came between us. Just a line, either of 
 welcome or ' oret thee behind me ! ' In 
 spite of jour censures, I always was, and 
 still am, affectionately yours, 
 
 '* EvERARD BaRFOOT." 
 
 Rhoda perused the sheet very atten- 
 tively. 
 
 " An impudent letter," said Miss Barfoot. 
 '' Just like him." 
 
 " Where does he appear from ? " 
 
 " Japan, I suppose. — ' But prejudice 
 came between us.' I like that ! Moral 
 conviction is always prejudice in the eyes 
 of these advanced young men. — Of course 
 he must come. I am anxious to see what 
 time has made of him." 
 
 " Was it really moral censure that kept 
 you from writing to him ? " inquired 
 Bhoda, with a smile. 
 
 " Decidedly. I didn't approve of him 
 
 at all, as I have frequently told 
 
 J) 
 you. 
 
216 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " But I gather that he hasn't changed 
 much." 
 
 " Not m theories," rephed Miss Barfoot. 
 " That isn't to be expected. He is far too 
 stubborn. But in mode of life he may 
 possibly be more tolerable." 
 
 " After two or three years in Japan," 
 rejoined Bhoda, with a slight raising of 
 the eyebrows. 
 
 " He is about three-and-thirty, and 
 before he left England I think he showed 
 possibilities of future wisdom. Of course 
 I disapprove of him, and, if necessary, 
 shall let him understand that, quite as 
 plainly as before. But there's no harm in 
 seeing if he has learnt to behave himself." 
 
 Everard Barfoot received an invitation 
 to dine. It was promptly accepted, and 
 on the evening of the appointment he 
 arrived at half-past seven. His cousin 
 sat alone in the drawing-room ; at his 
 entrance she regarded him with keen but 
 friendly scrutiny. 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 217 
 
 He had a tall, niuscular frame, and a 
 head of striking outHne, with large nose, 
 full lips, deep-set eyes, and prominent 
 eyehrows. His hair was the richest toae 
 of chestnut ; his moustache and beard — 
 the latter peaking slightly forward — in- 
 clined to redness. Excellent health mani- 
 fested itself in the warm parity of his 
 skin, in his cheerful aspect, and the light- 
 ness of his bearincr. The lower half of 
 his forehead was wrinkled, and when he 
 did not ^x his look on anything in parti- 
 cular, his eyelids drooped, giving him for 
 the moment an air of languor. On sitting 
 down, he at once abandoned himself to a 
 posture of the completest ease, which his 
 admirable proportions made graceful. 
 From his appearance one w^ould have 
 expected him to speak in rather loud 
 and decided tones ; but he had a soft 
 voice, and used it with all the discretion 
 of good-breeding, so that at times it 
 seemed to caress the ear. To this mode 
 
218 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 of utterance corresponded his smile, which 
 was frequent, but restrained to the 'ex- 
 pression of a delicate, good-natured irony. 
 
 '^ No one had told me of your return," 
 were Miss Barfoot's first words, as she 
 shook hands with him. 
 
 ^' I fancy, because no one knew. You 
 were the first of my kinsfolk to whom I 
 wrote." 
 
 " Much honour, Everard. — You look 
 very well." 
 
 '' I am glad to be able to say the same 
 of you. And yet I hear that you work 
 harder than ever." 
 
 " Who is the source of your informa- 
 tion about me ? " 
 
 " I had an account of you from Tom, in 
 a letter that caught me at Constanti- 
 nople." 
 
 " Tom ? T thought he had forgotten 
 my existence. Who told him about me, 
 I can't imagine. — So you didn't come 
 straight home from Japan ? " 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 219 
 
 Barfoot was nursing- his knee, his head 
 thrown back. 
 
 " No ; I loitered a little in Egypt and 
 Turkey. — Are you living quite alone ? " 
 
 He drawled slightly on the last word, 
 its second vowel making quite a musical 
 note, of wonderful expressiveness. The 
 clear decision of his cousin's reply was a 
 sharp contrast. 
 
 " A lady lives with me — Miss Nunn. 
 She will join us in a moment." 
 
 " Miss Nunn ? " He smiled. " A partner 
 in your activity ? " 
 
 " She gives me valuable help." 
 
 " I must hear all about it — if you will 
 kindly tell me some day. It will interest 
 me greatly. You always were the most 
 interesting of our family. Brother Tom 
 promised to be a genius, but marriage has 
 blighted the hope, I fear." 
 
 " The marriage was a very absurd 
 one." 
 
 " Was it ? I feared so ; but Tom seems 
 
220 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 satisfied. I suppose they will stay at 
 Madeira." 
 
 " Until his wife is tired of her imaginary 
 phthisis, and amuses herself with imagin- 
 ing some other ailment that requires them 
 to go to Siberia." 
 
 *' Ah, that kind of person, is she ? " He 
 smiled indulgently, and played for a 
 moment with the lobe of his right ear. 
 His ears were small, and of the ideal 
 contour ; the hand too, thus displayed, 
 was a fine example of blended strength 
 and elegance. 
 
 Rhoda came in, so quietly that she was 
 able to observe the guest before he had 
 detected her presence. The movement of 
 Miss Barfoot's eyes first informed him that 
 another person was in the room. In 
 the quietest possible way the introduction 
 was performed, and all seated themselves. 
 
 Dressed, like the hostess, in black, and 
 without ornaments of any kind save a 
 silver buckle at her waist, E.hoda seemed 
 
COUSEN EVERARD. '-^21 
 
 to have endeavoured to liken herself to 
 the suo-irestioii of her name by the exces- 
 sive plamness with which she had arranged 
 her hair ; its tight smoothness was nothing 
 like so becoming as the mode she usually 
 adopted, and it made her look older. 
 Whether by accident or design, she took 
 an upright chair, and sat upon it in a stiff 
 attitude. Finding it difficult to suspect 
 Rhoda of shyness, Miss Barfoot once or 
 twice glanced at her with curiosity. For 
 settled conversation there was no time ; a 
 servant announced dinner almost imme- 
 diately. 
 
 "There shall be no forms, cousin 
 Everard," said the hostess. " Please to 
 follow us." 
 
 Doino- so, Everard examined Miss 
 Nunn's tigure, which in its way was strong 
 and shapely as his own. A motion of his 
 lips indicated amused approval, but at 
 once he commanded himself, and entered 
 the dining-room with exemplary gravity. 
 
222 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Naturally, he sat opposite Ehoda, and his 
 eyes often skimmed her face ; when she 
 spoke, which was very seldom, he gazed at 
 her with close attention. 
 
 During the first part of the meal, Miss 
 Barfoot questioned her relative concerning 
 his Oriental experiences ; Everard spoke of 
 them in a light, agreeable way, avoiding 
 the tone of instruction, and, in short, giving 
 evidence of good taste. E-hoda listened 
 with a look of civil interest, but asked no 
 question, and smiled only when it was 
 unavoidable. Presently the talk turned 
 to things of home. 
 
 " Have you heard of your friend Mr. 
 Poppleton ? " the hostess asked. 
 
 ''Poppleton? Nothing whatever. I 
 should like to see him." 
 
 " I'm sorry to tell you he is in a lunatic 
 asylum." 
 
 As Barfoot kept the silence of as- 
 tonishment, his cousin went on to tell him 
 that the unhappy man seemed to have lost 
 his wits among business troubles. 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 223 
 
 " Yet I should have suc,^gested another 
 explanation," remarked the young man, in 
 his most discreet tone. " You never met 
 Mrs. Poppleton ? " 
 
 Seeing that Miss Nunn had looked up 
 with interest, he addressed himself to her. 
 
 " My friend Poppleton was one of the 
 most dehghtful men, — perhaps the best 
 and kindest I ever knew, and so over- 
 flowing with natural wit and humour that 
 there was no resisting: his cheerful influence. 
 To the amazement of every one who knew 
 him, he married perhaps the dullest woman 
 he could have found. Mrs. Poppleton not 
 only never made a joke, but couldn't 
 understand what joking meant. Only the 
 flattest literalism was intelligible to her ; 
 she could follow nothing but the very 
 macadam of conversation — had no palate 
 for anything but the suet-]3udding of 
 talk." 
 
 Khoda's eyes twinkled, and Miss Barfoot 
 laughed. Everard was allowing himself a 
 
224 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 freedom in expression which hitherto he 
 had sedulously avoided. 
 
 " Yet," he continued, " she was by birth 
 a lady — which made the infliction harder 
 to bear. Poor old Poppleton ! Again 
 and again I have heard him — what do you 
 think ? — laboriously explaining jests to 
 her. That was a trial, as you may 
 imagine. There we sat, we three, in the 
 unbeautiful little parlour — for they were 
 anything but rich. Poppleton would 
 say something that convulsed me with 
 laughter — in spite of my efforts, for I 
 always dreaded the result so much that I 
 strove my hardest to do no more than 
 smile appreciation. My laugh compelled 
 Mrs. Poppleton to stare at me — oh, her 
 eyes ! Thereupon, her husband began his 
 dread performance. The jD^^i^nce, the 
 heroic patience, of that dear, good fellow ! 
 I have known him explain, and re-explain, 
 for a quarter of an hour, and invariably 
 without success. It might be a mere pun ; 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 225 
 
 Mrs. Poppleton no more understood the 
 nature of a pun than of the binomial 
 theorem. But worse was when the jest 
 involved some allusion. When I heard 
 Poppleton begin to elucidate, to expound, 
 the perspiration already on his forehead, 
 I looked at him with imploring anguish. 
 Why v)ould he attempt the impossible ? 
 But the kind fellow couldn't disregard his 
 wife's request. Shall I ever forget her 
 * Oh — yes — I see ' ? — when obviously she 
 saw nothing but the wall at which she sat 
 staring." 
 
 " I have known her like," said Miss 
 Barfoot merrily. 
 
 " I am convinced his madness didn't 
 come from business anxiety. It was the 
 necessity, ever recurring, ever before him, 
 of expounding jokes to his wife. Believe 
 me, it was nothing but that." 
 
 " It seems very probable," asserted 
 Rhoda drily. 
 
 " Then there's another friend of yours 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 whose marriage has been unfortunate," 
 said the hostess. " They tell me that Mr. 
 Orchard has forsaken his wife, and without 
 intelligible reason." 
 
 " There, too, I can offer an explanation," 
 replied Barfoot quietly, " though you 
 may doubt whether it justifies him. 1 
 met Orchard a few months ago in 
 Alexandria, met him by chance in the 
 street, and didn't recognize him until he 
 spoke to me. He was worn to skin and 
 bone. I found that he had abandoned all 
 his possessions to Mrs. Orchard, and just 
 kept himself alive on casual work for the 
 magazines, wandering about the shores of 
 the Mediterranean like an uneasy spirit. 
 He showed me the thing he had last 
 written, and I see it is published in this 
 month's Macmillan. Do read it. An 
 exquisite description of a night in 
 Alexandria. One of these days he will 
 starve to death. A pity ; he might have 
 done fine work." 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 227 
 
 " But we await your explanation. 
 What business has he to desert his wife 
 and children ? " 
 
 " Let me give an account of a day I 
 spent with him at Tintern, not long before 
 I left England. He and his wife were 
 having a holiday there, and I called on 
 them. We went to walk about the 
 Abbey. Now, for some two hours, — I will 
 be strictly truthful, — whilst we were in 
 the midst of that lovely scenery, Mrs. 
 Orchard discoursed unceasingly of one 
 subject — the difficulty she had w^ith her 
 domestic servants. Ten or twelve of these 
 handmaidens were marshalled before our 
 imagination ; their names, their ages, their 
 antecedents, the wages they received, were 
 carefully specified. We listened to a 
 catalogue oxdsoivU of the plates, cups and 
 other utensils that they had broken. We 
 heard of the enormities which in each case 
 led to their dismissal. Orchard tried 
 repeatedly to change the subject, l)ut only 
 
228 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 with the effect of irritating his wife. 
 What could he or I do but patiently give 
 ear ? Our walk was ruined, but there was 
 no help for it. — Now, be good enough to 
 extend this kind of thing over a number 
 of years. Picture Orchard sitting down in 
 his home to literary work, ,and liable at 
 any moment to an invasion from Mrs. 
 Orchard, who comes to tell him, at great 
 length, that the butcher has charged for 
 a joint they have not consumed — or 
 something of that kind. He assured me 
 that his choice lay between flight and 
 suicide, and I firmly believed him." 
 
 As he concluded, his eyes met those of 
 Miss Nunn, and the latter suddenly spoke. 
 
 " Why will men marry fools 1 " 
 
 Barfoot was startled. He looked down 
 into his plate, smiling. 
 
 "A most sensible question," said the 
 hostess, with a laugh. '* Why, indeed ? " 
 
 " But a difficult one to answer," re- 
 marked Everard, with his most restrained 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 229 
 
 smile. " Possibly, Miss Niiini, narrow 
 social opportunity has something to do 
 with it. They must many some one, and 
 in the case of most men choice is seriously 
 restricted." 
 
 " I should have thought," replied Rhoda, 
 elevating her eyebrows, " that to live alone 
 was the less of two evils." 
 
 " Undoubtedly. But men like these two 
 we have been speaking of haven't a very 
 logical mind." 
 
 Miss Barfoot changed the topic. 
 
 When, not long after, the ladies left him 
 to meditate over his glass of wine, Everard 
 curiously surveyed the room. Then his 
 eyelids drooped, he smiled absently, and 
 a calm sis"h seemed to relieve his chest. 
 The claret had no particular quality to 
 recommend it, and in any case he would 
 have drunk very little, for as regards the 
 bottle his nature was abstemious. 
 
 "It is as I expected," Miss Barfoot 
 was saying to her friend, in the drawmg- 
 
230 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 room. ' ' He has changed very notice- 
 ably." 
 
 " Mr. Barfoot isn't quite the man your 
 remarks had suggested to me," Rhoda 
 repHed. 
 
 " I fancy he is no longer the man I 
 knew. His manners are . wonderfully 
 improved. He used to assert himself in 
 rather alarming ways. — His letter, to be 
 sure, had the old tone, or something of it." 
 
 " I will go to the library for an hour," 
 said Rhoda, who had not seated herself. 
 " Mr. Barfoot won't leave before ten, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 "I don't think there will be any private 
 talk." 
 
 " Still, if you will let me—" 
 
 So, when Everard appeared, he found 
 his cousin alone. 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " she asked 
 of him good-naturedly. 
 
 *' To do ? You mean, how do I propose 
 to employ myself? — I have nothing what- 
 ever in view, beyond enjoying life." 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 231 
 
 " At your age ? " 
 
 " So youiio- ? Or so old ? Which ? " 
 
 " So young, of course. You deliberately 
 intend to Avaste your life ? " 
 
 '' To enjoy it, I said. I am not 
 prompted to any business or profession ; 
 that's all over for me ; I have learnt all I 
 care to of the active world." 
 
 " But what do you understand by 
 enjoyment i " asked Miss Barfoot, with 
 knitted brows. 
 
 " Isn't the spectacle of existence quite 
 enough to occupy one through a lifetime ? 
 If a man merely travelled, could he possibly 
 exhaust all the beauties and magnificences 
 that are offered to him in every country ? 
 For ten years and more I worked as hard 
 as any man ; I shall never regret it, for 
 it has given me a feeling of liberty and 
 opportunity such as I should not have 
 known if I had always lived at my ease. 
 It taught me a great deal, too ; supple- 
 mented my so-called education as nothing 
 
232 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 else could have done. But to work for 
 ever is to lose half of life. I can't 
 understand those people who reconcile 
 themselves to quitting the world without 
 having seen a millionth part of it." 
 
 " I am quite reconciled to that. An 
 infinite picture-gallery isn't my idea of 
 enjoyment." 
 
 " Nor mine. But an infinite series of 
 modes of living. A ceaseless exercise of 
 all one's faculties of pleasure. — That 
 sounds shameless to you ? I can't under- 
 stand why it should. Why is the man 
 who toils more meritorious than he who 
 enjoys ? What is the sanction for this 
 judgment ? " 
 
 " Social usefulness, Everard." 
 
 " I admit the demand for social useful- 
 ness, up to a certain point. But really, 
 I have done my share. The mass of men 
 don't toil with any such ideal, but merely 
 to keep themselves alive, or to get wealth. 
 I think there is a vast amount of un- 
 necessary labour." 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 233 
 
 " There is an old proverb about Satan 
 and idle hands. — Pardon me ; you alluded 
 to that personage in your letter." 
 
 " The proverb is a very true one, but, 
 hke other proverbs, it appHes to the 
 multitude. If I get into mischief, it will 
 not be because I don't perspire for so 
 many hours every day ; but simply 
 because it is human to err. I have 
 no intention whatever of getting into 
 mischief." 
 
 The speaker stroked his beard, and 
 smiled with a distant look. 
 
 " Yonr purpose is intensely selfish, and 
 all indul^fed selfishness reacts on the 
 character," replied Miss Barfoot, still in a 
 tone of the friendliest criticism. 
 
 " My dear cousin, for anything to be 
 selfish, it must be a deliberate refusal of 
 what one believes to be duty. I don't 
 admit that I am neglecting any duty to 
 others, and the duty to myself seems very 
 clear indeed." 
 
234 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 '' Of that, I have no doubt," exclaimed 
 the other, laughing. ' ' I see that you 
 have refined your arguments." 
 
 " Not my arguments only, I hope," said 
 Everard modestly. '' My time has been 
 very ill spent if I haven't, in some degree, 
 refined my nature." 
 
 ' ' That sounds very well, Everard. But 
 when it comes to degrees of self- 
 indulgence — " 
 
 She paused and made a gesture of 
 dissatisfaction. 
 
 " It comes to that, surely, with every 
 man. — But we certainly shall not agree on 
 this subject. You stand at the social 
 point of view ; I am an individualist. 
 You have the advantage of a tolerably 
 consistent theory ; whilst I have no 
 theory at all, and am full of contradictions. 
 The only thing clear to me is that I have 
 a right to make the most of my life." 
 
 " No matter at whose expense ? " 
 
 " You are quite mistaken. My con- 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 235 
 
 science is a tender one. I dread to do 
 any one an injury. — That has always been 
 true of me, in spite of your sceptical look ; 
 and the tendency increases as I grow 
 older. Let us have done with so un- 
 important a matter. Isn't Miss Nunn 
 able to rejoin us ? " 
 
 " She will come presently, I think." 
 
 *' How did you make this lady's ac- 
 quaintance ? " 
 
 Miss Barfoot explained the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 " She makes an impression," resumed 
 Everard. " A strong character, of course. 
 More decidedly one of the new women 
 than you yourself — isn't she ^. " 
 
 " Oh, / am a very old-fashioned woman. 
 Women have thought as I do at any time 
 in history. Miss Nunn has much more 
 zeal for womanhood militant." 
 
 " I should delight to talk with her. 
 Really, you know, I am very strongly on 
 your side." 
 
236 THE ODD WOMEN". 
 
 Miss Barfoot laughed. 
 
 ** Oh, sophist ! — You despise women." 
 
 " Why, yes, the great majority of 
 women — the typical woman. All the 
 more reason for my admiring the ex- 
 ceptions, and wishing to see them become 
 more common. You, undoubtedly, despise 
 the average woman." 
 
 " I despise no human being, Everard." 
 
 '• Oh, in a sense ! — But Miss Nunn, 
 I feel sure, would agree with me." 
 
 ** I am very sure Miss Nunn wouldn't. 
 She doesn't admire the feebler female, 
 but that is very far from being at one 
 with your point of view, my cousin." 
 
 Everard mused with a smile. 
 
 ' ' I must get to understand her line of 
 thought. You permit me to call upon you 
 now and then ? " 
 
 " Oh, whenever you like, in the 
 evening. — Except," Miss Barfoot added, 
 ' ' Wednesday evening. Then we are 
 always engaged." 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 237 
 
 " Summer holidays are unknown to you, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " Not altogether. I had mme a few 
 weeks ago. Miss Nunn will be going 
 away in a fortnight, I think." 
 
 Just before ten o'clock, when Barfoot 
 was talking of some acquaintances he had 
 left in Japan, Rhoda entered the room. 
 She seemed little disposed for conversation, 
 and Everard did not care to assail her 
 taciturnity this evening. He talked on a 
 little longer, observing her as she listened, 
 and presently took an opportunity to rise 
 for departure. 
 
 " Wednesday is the forbidden evening 
 is it not ? " he said to his cousin. 
 
 " Yes, that is devoted to business." 
 
 As soon as he was gone, the friends 
 exchanged a look. Each understood the 
 other as referring to this point of Wed- 
 nesday evening, but neither made a remark. 
 They were silent for some time. When 
 
238 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Rhoda at length spoke it was in a tone oi 
 half-indifferent curiosity. 
 
 '' You are sure you haven't exaggerated 
 Mr. Barfoot's failings ? " 
 
 The reply was delayed for a moment. 
 
 " I was a little indiscreet to speak of 
 him at all. — But no, I didn't exaggerate." 
 
 " Curious," mused the other, dispas- 
 sionately, as she stood with one foot on 
 the fender. " He hardly strikes one as 
 that kind of man." 
 
 "Oh, he has certainly changed a great 
 deal." 
 
 Miss Barfoot went on to speak of 
 her cousin's resolve to pursue no calling. 
 
 " His means are very modest. I feel 
 rather guilty before him ; his father be- 
 queathed to me much of the money that 
 would in the natural course have been 
 Everard's. But he is quite superior to 
 any feeling of grudge on that score." 
 
 "Practically, his father disinherited 
 him ? " 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 239 
 
 " It amounted to that. From quite a 
 child, Everard was at odds with his 
 father. A strange thing, for in so many 
 respects they resembled each other very 
 closely. Physically, Everard is his father 
 walking the earth again. In character, 
 too, I think they must be very much alike. 
 They couldn't talk about the simplest thing 
 without disagreeing. — My uncle had risen 
 from the ranks, but he disliked to be re- 
 minded of it. He disliked the commerce 
 by which he made his fortune. His desire 
 was to win social position ; if baronetcies 
 could be purchased in our time, he would 
 have given a huge sum to acquire one. 
 But he never distinguished himself, and 
 one of the reasons was, no doubt, that he 
 married too soon. I have heard him speak 
 bitterly, and very indiscreetly, of early 
 marriaofes ; his wife was dead then, but 
 every one knew what he meant. — Rhoda, 
 when one thinks how often a woman is a 
 
240 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 clog upon a man's ambition, no wonder 
 they regard us as they do." 
 
 " Of course, women are always retarding 
 one thing or another. But men are in- 
 tensely stupid not to have remedied that 
 long ago." 
 
 " He determined that his boys should 
 be gentlemen. Tom, the elder, followed 
 his wishes exactly ; he was remarkably 
 clever, but idleness spoilt him, and now he 
 has made that ridiculous marriage, — the 
 end of poor Tom. Everard went to Eton, 
 and the school had a remarkable effect 
 upon him ; it made him a furious Radical. 
 Instead of imitating the young aristocrats, 
 he hated and scorned them. There must 
 have been great force of originality in the 
 boy. Of course I don't know whether any 
 Etonians of his time preached Radicalism, 
 but it seems unlikely. I think it was 
 sheer vigour of character, and the strange 
 desire to oppose his father in everything. 
 From Eton he was of course to pass to 
 
COUSIX EVERARD. 241 
 
 Oxford, bat at that stage came practical 
 rebellion. No, said the boy ; he wouldn't 
 go to a University, to fill his head with 
 useless learning ; he had made up his mind 
 to be an engineer. This was an astonish- 
 ment to every one ; engineering didn't 
 seem at all the thing for him ; he had very 
 little ability in mathematics, and his bent 
 had always been to liberal studies. — But 
 nothing could shake his idea. He had got 
 it into his head that only some such work as 
 engineering, — something of a practical kind, 
 that called for strength and craftsmanship, 
 — was worthy of a man with his opinions. 
 He would rank with the classes that keep 
 the world going wdth their sturdy toil : 
 that was how he spoke. And after a great 
 fight, he had his way. He left Eton to 
 study civil engineering." 
 
 Ehoda was listening with an amused 
 smile. 
 
 " Then," pursued her friend, '* came 
 another display of firmness or obstinacy, 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 whichever you Uke to call it. He soon 
 found out that he had made a complete 
 mistake. The studies didn't suit him at 
 all, as others had foreseen. But he would 
 have worked himself to death rather than 
 confess his error ; none of us knew how he 
 was feeling till long after. -Engineering 
 he had chosen, and an engineer he would 
 be, cost him what effort it might. His 
 father shouldn't triumph over him. And 
 from the age of eighteen till nearly thirty 
 he stuck to a profession which I am sure he 
 loathed. By force of resolve, he even got 
 on in it, and reached a good position with 
 the firm he worked for. Of course his 
 father wouldn't assist him with money 
 after he came of age ; he had to make 
 his way just like any young man who has 
 no influence." 
 
 " All this puts him in quite another 
 ligfht," remarked Bhoda. 
 
 *' Yes, it would be all very well, if there 
 were no vices to add to the picture I 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 243 
 
 never experienced such a revulsion of feel- 
 ing as the day when I learnt shameful 
 things about Everard. You know, T 
 always regarded him as a boy, and very 
 much as if he had been my younger 
 brother ; then came the shock — a shock 
 that had a great part in shaping my life 
 thenceforward. Since, I have thought of 
 him as I have spoken of him to you — as 
 an illustration of evils we have to combat. 
 A man of the world would tell you that I 
 grossly magnified trifles ; it is very 
 likely that Everard was on a higher moral 
 level than most men. But I shall never 
 forgive him for destroying my faith in his 
 honour and nobility of feeling." 
 
 E,hoda had a puzzled look. 
 
 " Perhaps even now you are uninten- 
 tionally misleading me," she said. " I 
 have supposed him an outrageous 
 profligate." 
 
 '"' He was vicious and cowardly — I can't 
 say any more." 
 
 R 2 
 
244 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " And that was the immediate cause of 
 his father's leaving him poorly provided 
 for?" 
 
 '' It had much to do with it, I have no 
 doubt." 
 
 ''I see. — I imagined that he was cast 
 out of all decent society." 
 
 " If society were really decent, he would 
 have been. — It's strange how completely 
 his Radicalism has disappeared. I believe 
 he never had a genuine sympathy with 
 the labouring classes. And what's more, I 
 fancy he has a great deal of his father's 
 desire for command and social distinction. 
 If he had seen his way to become a great 
 engineer, a director of vast enterprises, he 
 wouldn't have abandoned his work. An 
 incredible stubbornness has possibly spoilt 
 his whole life. In a congenial pursuit, he 
 might by this time have attained to some- 
 thing noteworthy. It's too late now, I 
 fear." 
 
 Rhoda meditated. 
 
COUSIN EVERARD. 245 
 
 *' Does he aim at nothing whatever ? " 
 
 " He won't admit any ambition. — He 
 has no society. His friends are nearly all 
 obscure people, like those you heard him 
 speak of this evening." 
 
 '' After all, what ambition should he 
 have?" said Rhoda, with a laugh. " There's 
 one advantage in being a woman. A 
 woman with brains and will may hope to 
 distinguish herself in the greatest move- 
 ment of our time — that of emanciiDating 
 her sex. But what can a man do, unless 
 he has ofenius ? " 
 
 ' ' There's the emancipation of the work- 
 ing classes. That is the great sphere for 
 men ; and Everard cares no more for the 
 working classes than I do." 
 
 *' Isn't it enough to be free oneself^ " 
 
 " You mean that he has task enough in 
 striving to be an honourable man ? " 
 
 " Perhaps. — I hardly know what I 
 meant." 
 
246 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Miss Barfoot mused, and her face lighted 
 up with a glad thought. 
 
 " You are right. It's better to be a 
 woman, in our day. With us is all the 
 joy of advance, the glory of conquering. 
 Men have only material progress to think 
 about. But we — we are winning souls, 
 propagating a new religion, purifying the 
 earth ! " 
 
 Bhoda nodded thrice. 
 
 " My cousin is a fine specimen of a man, 
 after all, in body and mind. But what a 
 poor, ineffectual creature compared with 
 you, Bhoda ! I don't flatter you, dear. I 
 tell you bluntly of your faults and ex- 
 travagances. But I am proud of your 
 magnificent independence, proud of your 
 pride, dear, and of your stainless heart. 
 Thank heaven we are women ! " 
 
 It was rare indeed for Miss Barfoot to 
 be moved to rhapsody. Again Bhoda 
 nodded, and then they laughed together, 
 with joyous confidence in themselves and 
 in their cause. 
 
IX. 
 
 THE SIMPLE FAITH. 
 
 Seated in the reading-room of a club to 
 which he had newly j)rocured admission, 
 Everard Barfoot was glancing over the 
 advertisement columns of a literary paper. 
 His eye fell on an announcement that had 
 a personal interest for him, and at once he 
 went to the writing-table to pen a letter. 
 
 " Dear Micklethwaite, 
 
 '* I am back in England, and ought 
 before this to have written to you. I see 
 you have just published a book with an 
 alarming title, ' A Treatise on Trilinear 
 Co-ordinates.' My hearty congratulations 
 on the completion of such a labour ; w^ere 
 
248 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 you not the most disinterested of mortals, 
 I would add a hope that it may somehow 
 benefit you financially. I presume there 
 are people who purchase such works. 
 But of course the main point with you is 
 to have delivered your soul on Trilinear 
 Co-ordinates. Shall I run down to 
 Shefiield to see you, or is there any chance 
 of the holidays bringing you this way ? I 
 have found a cheap flat, poorly furnished, 
 in Bayswater ; the man who let it me 
 happens to be an engineer, and is absent 
 on Italian railway work for a year or so. 
 My stay in London won't, I think, be for 
 longer than six months, but we must see 
 each other and talk over old times," &c. 
 
 This he addressed to a school at 
 Sheffield. The answer, directed to the 
 club, reached him in three days. 
 
 "My dear Barfoot, 
 
 '' I also am in London ; your letter 
 has been forwarded from the school, which 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 249 
 
 I quitted last Easter. Disinterested or 
 not, I am happy to tell you that I have 
 got a vastly better appointment. Let me 
 know when and where to meet you ; or, if 
 you like, come to these lodgings of mine. 
 I don't enter upon duties till end of 
 October, and am at present revelling in 
 mathematical freedom. There's a great 
 deal to tell. 
 
 " Sincerely yours, 
 
 " Thomas Micklethwaite." 
 
 Having no occupation for his morning, 
 Barfoot went at once to the obscure little 
 street by Primrose Hill where his friend 
 was lodging. He reached the house 
 about noon, and, as he had anticipated, 
 found the mathematician deep in study. 
 Micklethw^aite was a man of forty, bent in 
 the shoulders, sallow, but not otherwise of 
 unhealthy appearance ; he had a merry 
 countenance, a great deal of lank, dis- 
 orderly hair, and a beard that reached to 
 
250 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 the middle of his waistcoat. Everard's 
 acquaintance with him dated from ten 
 years ago, when Micklethwaite had acted 
 as his private tutor in mathematics. 
 
 The room was a musty little back- 
 parlour on the ground floor. 
 
 '' Quiet, perfectly quiet," declared its 
 occupant, " and that's all I care for. Two 
 other lodgers in the house ; but they go to 
 business every morning at half-past eight, 
 and are in bed by ten at night. Besides, 
 it's only temporary. I have great things 
 in view — portentous changes ! I'll tell 
 you all about it presently." 
 
 He insisted, first of all, on hearing a full 
 account of Borfoot's history since they both 
 met. They had corresponded about twice 
 a year, but Everard was not fond of letter- 
 writing, and, on each occasion, gave only 
 the briefest account of himself In listen- 
 ing, Micklethwaite assumed extraordinary 
 positions, the result, presumably, of a need 
 of physical exercise after hours spent over 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 251 
 
 his work. Now he stretched himself at 
 full length on the edge of his chair, his 
 arms extended above him ; now he drew 
 up his legs, fixed his feet on the chair and 
 locked his hands round his knees ; thus 
 perched, he swayed his body backwards 
 and forwards, till it seemed likely that he 
 would pitch head foremost on to the floor. 
 Barfoot knew these eccentricities of old, 
 and paid no attention to them. 
 
 " And what is the appointment you 
 have got ? " he asked at length, dismissing 
 his own affairs with impatience. 
 
 It was that of mathematical lecturer at 
 a London college. 
 
 " I shall have a hundred and fifty a 
 year, and be able to take private pupils. 
 On two hundred, at least, I can count, and 
 there are possibilities I won't venture to 
 speak of, because it doesn't do to be too 
 hopeful. Two hundred a year is a great 
 advance, for me.'" 
 
252 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " Quite enough, I suppose," said 
 Everard kindly. 
 
 " Not — not enough. I must make a 
 Httle more somehow." 
 
 " Hollo ! Why this spirit of avarice 
 all at once ? " 
 
 The mathematician gave a shrill, cack- 
 ling laugh, and rolled upon his chair. 
 
 " I must have more than two hundred. 
 I should be satisfied with three hundred, 
 but I'll take as much more as I can get." 
 
 '' My revered tutor, this is shameless. I 
 came to pay my respects to a philosopher, 
 and I find a sordid worldling. Look at 
 me ! I am a man of the largest needs, 
 spiritual and physical, yet I make my 
 pittance of four hundred and £fty suffice, 
 and never grumble. Perhaps you aim at 
 an income equal to my own ? " 
 
 "I do ! What's four hundred and fifty % 
 If you were a man of enterprise you would 
 double or treble it. I put a high value on 
 money. I wish to be rich ! " 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH, 253 
 
 " You are either mad or are fifoini'' to o-et 
 
 O O o 
 
 married." 
 
 Micklethwaite cackled louder than ever. 
 
 " I am planning a new algebra, for school 
 use. If I'm not much mistaken, I can turn 
 out something that will supplant all the 
 present books. Think ! If Micklethwaite's 
 Algebra got accepted in all the schools, 
 what would that mean to Mick ? Hun- 
 dreds a year, my boy, hundreds." 
 
 " I never knew you so indecent." 
 
 " I am renewing my youth. Nay, for 
 the first time I am youthful. I never had 
 time for it before. At the ao-e of sixteen I 
 began to teach in a school, and ever since 
 I have pegged away at it, school and 
 private. Now luck has come to me, and I 
 feel five-and-twenty. When I was really 
 five-and-t\\'enty, I felt forty." 
 
 " Well, what has that to do with money- 
 making ? " 
 
 " After Mick's Algebra would follow 
 naturally Mick's Arithmetic, Mick's 
 
254 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 Euclid, Mick's Trigonometry. Twenty 
 years hence I should have an income of 
 thousands — thousands ! I would then 
 cease to teach (resign my professorship, 
 that is to say, for of course I should be 
 professor), and devote myself to a great 
 work on Probability. Many a man has 
 begun the best of his life at sixty — the 
 most enjoyable part of it, I mean." 
 
 Barfoot was perplexed. He knew his 
 friend's turn for humorous exaggeration, 
 but had never once heard him scheme for 
 material advancement, and evidently this 
 present talk meant something more than 
 a jest. 
 
 " Am I right or not ? You are going to 
 get married '? " 
 
 Micklethwaite glanced at the door, then 
 said in a tone of caution : 
 
 " I don't care to talk about it here. 
 Let us o'o somewhere and eat too^ether. I 
 invite you to have dinner with me, — or 
 lunch, as I suppose you would call it, in 
 your aristocratic language." 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 255 
 
 " No, you had better have lunch with 
 me. Come to my club." 
 
 " Confound your impudence ! Am I not 
 your father in mathematics ? " 
 
 "Be so good as to put on a decent pair 
 of trousers, and brush your hair. — Ah, here 
 is your Trilinear production. I'll look over 
 it whilst you make yourself presentable." 
 
 " There's a bad misprint in the Preface. 
 Let me show you — " 
 
 •' It's all the same to me, my dear 
 fellow." 
 
 But Micklethwaite was not content until 
 he had indicated the error, and had talked 
 for five minutes about the absurdities that 
 it involved. 
 
 " How do you suppose I got the thing 
 published ? " he then asked. " Old Bennet, 
 the Sheffield head-master, is security for 
 loss if the book doesn't pay for itself in 
 two years' time. Kind of him, wasn't it ? 
 He pressed the offer upon me, and I think 
 he's prouder of the book than I am myself 
 
256 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 — But it's quite remarkable how kind people 
 are when one is fortunate. 1 fancy a great 
 deal of nonsense is talked about the world's 
 enviousness. Now as soon as it got known 
 that I was coming to this post in London, 
 people behaved to me with surprising good- 
 nature, all round. Old Bennet talked in 
 quite an affectionate strain. ' Of course,' 
 he said, ' I have long known that you 
 ought to be in a better place than this ; 
 your payment is altogether inadequate ; 
 if it had depended upon lue, I should long 
 ago have increased it. I truly rejoice that 
 you have found a more fitting sphere for 
 your remarkable abilities.'— No ; I main- 
 tain that the world is always ready to 
 congratulate you with sincerity, if you will 
 only give it a chance." 
 
 " Very gracious of you to give it the 
 chance. But, by-the-bye, how did it come 
 about 1 " 
 
 '' Yes, I ought to tell you that. Why, 
 about a year ago, I wrote an answer to a 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 257 
 
 communication signed by a Big Gun in one 
 of the scientific papers. It was a question 
 in Probability, — you wouldn't understand 
 it. My answer was printed, and the Big 
 Gun wrote privately to me, — a very flatter- 
 ing letter. That correspondence led to my 
 appointment ; the Big Gun exerted himself 
 on my behalf. The fact is, the world is 
 bursting with good- nature." 
 
 " Obviously. — And how long did it take 
 you to write this little book ? " 
 
 " Oh, only about seven years, — the 
 actual composition. I never had much 
 time to myself, you must remember." 
 
 " You're a good soul, Thomas. Go and 
 equip yourself for civilized society." 
 
 To the clul) they repaired on foot. 
 Micklethwaite would talk of anything but 
 that which his companion most desired 
 to hear. 
 
 " There are solemnities in life," he 
 answered to an impatient question," things 
 that can't be spoken of in the highway. 
 VOL. I. s 
 
258 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 When we have eaten, let us go to your 
 flat, and there I will tell you everything." 
 
 They lunched joyously. The mathema- 
 tician drank a bottle of excellent hock, 
 and did corresponding j ustice to the dishes. 
 His eyes gleamed with happiness ; again 
 he enlarged upon the benevolence of man- 
 kind, and the admirable ordering of the 
 world. From the club they drove to 
 Bayswater, and made themselves comfor- 
 table in Barfoot's flat, which was very 
 plainly, but sufliciently, furnished. Mickle- 
 thwaite, cigar in mouth, threw his legs 
 over the side of the easy chair in which 
 he was sitting. 
 
 " Now," he began gravely, " I don't 
 mind telling you that your conjecture was 
 right. I am going to be married." 
 
 " Well," said the other, '*' you have 
 reached the age of discretion. I must 
 suppose that you know wdiat you are 
 about." 
 
 " Yes, I think I do. The story is 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 259 
 
 unexciting. I am not a romantic person, 
 nor is my future wife. Now, you must 
 know that wlien I was about twenty-three 
 years old, I fell in love. You never sus- 
 pected me of that, I dare say ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Well, I did fall in love. The lady was 
 a clergyman's daughter at Hereford, where 
 I had a place in a school ; she taught the 
 infants in an elementary school connected 
 with ours ; her age was exactly the same 
 as my own. Now, the remarkable thing 
 was that she took a liking for me, and 
 when I was scoundrel enough to tell her of 
 my feeling, she didn't reject me." 
 
 " Scoundrel enough ? Why scoundrel ? " 
 
 " Why ? — But I hadn't a penny in the 
 world. I lived at the school, and received 
 a salary of thirty pounds, half of which 
 had to go towards the support of my 
 mother. What could possibly have been 
 more villainous ? What earthly prospect 
 was there of my being able to marry 1 " 
 
 s 2 
 
260 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 '^ Well, grant the monstrosity of it." 
 
 " This lady — a very little lower than 
 the angels — declared that she was content 
 to wait an indefinite time. She believed 
 in me, and hoped for my future. Her 
 father — the mother was dead — sanctioned 
 our engagement. She had three sisters, 
 one of them a governess, another keeping 
 house, and the third a blind girl. Ex- 
 cellent people, all of them. I was at 
 their house as often as possible, and they 
 made much of me. It was a pity, you 
 know, for in those few leisure hours I 
 ought to have been working like a nigger." 
 
 " Plainly you ought." 
 
 " Fortunately, I left Hereford, and went 
 to a school at Gloucester, where I had 
 thirty -five pounds. How we gloried over 
 that extra five pounds ! — But it's no use 
 going on with the story in this way ; it 
 would take me till to-morrow morning. 
 Seven years went by ; we were thirty 
 years old, and no prospect whatever of 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 261 
 
 our engagement coming to anything. I 
 had worked pretty hard ; I had taken my 
 London degree ; but not a penny had I 
 saved, and all I could spare was still 
 needful to my mother. It struck me all 
 at once that 1 had no right to continue 
 the engagement. On my thirtieth birth- 
 day I wrote a letter to Fanny, — that is her 
 name, — and begged her to be free. — Now, 
 would you have done the same, or not 1 " 
 
 " Really, I am not imaginative enough 
 to put myself in such a position. It 
 would need a stupendous effort, at all 
 events." 
 
 " But was there anything gross in the 
 proceeding '? " 
 
 " The lady took it ill 1 " 
 
 " Not in the sense of being offended. 
 But she said it had caused her much 
 suffering. She begged me to consider 
 myself free. She would remain faithful, 
 and if, in time to come, I cared to write 
 to lier again — After all these years, T 
 
262 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 can't speak of it without huskiness. It 
 seemed to me that I had behaved more 
 like a scoundrel than ever. I thought 
 I had better kill myself, and even planned 
 ways of doing it — I did indeed. But after 
 all we decided that our engagement should 
 continue." 
 
 '' Of course." 
 
 *'You think it natural ?— Well, the 
 engagement has continued till this day. 
 A month ago I was forty, so that we have 
 waited for seventeen years." 
 
 Micklethwaite paused on a note of awe. 
 
 " Two of Fanny's sisters are dead ; they 
 never married. The blind one, Fanny has 
 long supported, and she will come to live 
 with us. — Long, long ago we had both of 
 us given up thought of marriage. I have 
 never spoken to any one of the engage- 
 ment ; it was something too absurd, and 
 also too sacred." 
 
 The smile died from Everard's face, and 
 he sat in thought. 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 263 
 
 *' Now, when are you going to many ? " 
 cried Micklethwaite, with a revival of his 
 cheerfuhiess. 
 
 " Probably never." 
 
 " Then I think you will neglect a grave 
 duty. Yes. It is the duty of every man, 
 who has sufficient means, to maintain a 
 wife. The life of unmarried women is a 
 wretched one ; every man who is able 
 ought to save one of them from that fate." 
 
 " I should like my cousin Mary and her 
 female friends to hear you talk in that way. 
 They would overwhelm you with scorn." 
 
 " Not sincere scorn, in my belief Of 
 course I have heard of that kind of woman. 
 Tell me something about them." 
 
 Barfoot was led on to a broad expression 
 of his views. 
 
 "I admire your old-fashioned sentiment, 
 Micklethwaite. It sits well on you, and 
 you're a fine fellow. But I have much 
 more sympathy with the new idea that 
 women should think of marriacre only as 
 
264 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 men do ; — I mean, not to grow up in the 
 thought that they must marry or be 
 bHghtecl creatures. My own views are 
 rather extreme, perhaps ; strictly, I don't 
 beheve in marriage at alL And I haven't 
 anything Hke the respect for women, as 
 women, that you have. You belong to 
 the Ruskin school ; and I — well, perhaps 
 my experience has been unusual, though 
 I don't think so. You know, by-the- 
 bye, that my relatives consider me a 
 blackguard ? " 
 
 *' That affair you told me about, some 
 years ago ? " 
 
 " Chiefly that. — I have a good mind to 
 tell you the true story ; I didn't care to at 
 the time. I accepted the charge of 
 blackguardism ; it didn't matter much. — 
 My cousin will never forgive me, though 
 she has an air of friendliness once more. 
 And I suspect she had told her friend Miss 
 Nunn all about me. Perhaps to put Miss 
 Nunn on her guard — heaven knows ! " 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 265 
 
 He laii filled merrily. 
 
 " Miss Nunn, I dare say, needs no 
 protection against you." 
 
 " I had an odd thought whilst I was 
 there." Everard leaned his head back, and 
 half closed his eyes. " Miss Nunn, I 
 warrant, considers herself proof against 
 any kind of wooing. She is one of the 
 grandly severe women ; a terror, I imagine, 
 to any young girl at their place who 
 betrays weak thoughts of matrimony. 
 Now, it's rather a temptation to a man of 
 my kind. There would be something- 
 piquant in making vigorous love to Miss 
 Nunn, just to prove her sincerity." 
 
 Micklethwaite shook his head. 
 
 *' Unworthy of you, Barfoot. Of course 
 you couldn't really do such a thing." 
 
 " But such women really challenge one. 
 If she were rich, I think I could do it 
 without scruple." 
 
 " You seem to be taking it for granted," 
 said the mathematician, smiling, " that 
 
266 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 this lady would — would respond to your 
 love-making." 
 
 " I confess to you that women have 
 spoilt me. And I am rather resentful 
 when any one cries out against me for 
 lack of respect to womanhood. I have 
 been the victim of this groundless 
 veneration for females. — Now, you shall 
 hear the story ; and bear in mind that you 
 are the only person to whom I have ever 
 told it. I never tried to defend myself 
 when I was vilified on all hands. Probably 
 the attempt would have been useless ; and 
 then, it would certainly have increased the 
 odium in which I stood. I think I'll tell 
 cousin Mary the truth some day ; it would 
 be good for her." 
 
 The listener looked uneasy, but curious. 
 
 " Well now, I was staying, in the 
 summer, with some friends of ours at a 
 little place called Upchurch, on a branch 
 line from Oxford. The people were well- 
 to-do, — Goodall their name, — and went in 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 267 
 
 for philanthropy. Mrs. Goodall always 
 had a lot of Upchurch girls about her, 
 educated and not ; her idea was to civilize 
 one class by means of the other, and to 
 give a new spirit to both. My cousin 
 Mary was staying at the house whilst I 
 was there. She had more reasonable 
 views than Mrs. Goodall, but took a great 
 interest in what was going on. 
 
 " Now one of the girls in process of 
 spiritualization was called Amy Drake. 
 In the ordinary course of things I 
 shouldn't have met her, but she served 
 in a shop where I went two or three times 
 to get a newspaper ; we talked a little, — 
 with absolute propriety on my part, I 
 assure you, — and she knew that T was a 
 friend of the Goodalls. The girl had no 
 parents, and she was on the point of going 
 to London to live with a married sister. 
 
 " It happened that by the very train 
 which took me back to London, when my 
 visit was over, this girl also travelled, and 
 
268 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 alone. I saw her at Upchurch Station, 
 but we didn't speak, and I got into a 
 smoking-carriage. We had to change at 
 Oxford, and there, as I walked about the 
 platform. Amy put herself in my way, so 
 that I was obliged to begin talking with 
 her. This behaviour rather surprised me ; 
 I wondered what Mrs. Goodall would think 
 of it. But perhaps it was a sign of 
 innocent freedom in the intercourse of men 
 and women. At all events. Amy managed 
 to get me into the same carriage with 
 herself, and on the way to London we 
 were alone. You foresee the end of it. 
 At Paddington Station the girl and I went 
 off together, and she didn't get to her 
 sister's till the evening. 
 
 " Of course I take it for granted that 
 you believe my account of the matter. 
 Miss Drake was by no means the spiritual 
 young person that Mrs. Goodall thought 
 her, or hoped to make her ; plainly, she 
 was a reprobate of experience. This, you 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 269 
 
 will say, doesn't alter the fact tliat I also 
 behaved like a reprobate. No ; from the 
 moralist's point of view I was to blame. 
 But I had no moral pretensions, and it 
 was too much to expect that I should 
 rebuke the young w^oman and preach her a 
 sermon. You admit that, I dare say 1 " 
 
 The mathematician, frowning uncom- 
 fortably, gave a nod of assent. 
 
 " Amy was not only a reprobate, but a 
 rascal. She betrayed me to the people at 
 Upchurch, and, I am quite sure, meant 
 from the first to do so. Imagine the 
 outcry. I had committed a monstrous 
 crime, — had led astray an innocent maiden, 
 had outraged hospitality, — and so on. In 
 Amy's case there were awkward results. 
 Of course I must marry the girl forthwith. 
 But of course I was determined to do no 
 such thing. For the reasons I have ex- 
 plained, I let the storm break upon me. 
 I had been a fool, to be sure, and couldn't 
 help myself No one would have believed 
 
270 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 my plea, — no one would have allowed that 
 the truth was an excuse. I was ahused 
 on all hands. And when, shortly after, 
 my father made his will and died, doubtless 
 he cut me off with my small annuity on 
 this very account. My cousin Mary got 
 a good deal of the money that would 
 otherwise have been mine. The old man 
 had been on rather better terms with 
 me just before that ; in a will that he 
 destroyed I believe he had treated me 
 handsomely." 
 
 "Well, well," said Micklethwaite, 
 " every one knows there are detestable 
 women to be found. But you oughtn't to 
 let this affect your view of women in 
 general. — What became of the girl ? " 
 
 " I made her a small allowance for a 
 year and a half. Then her child died, and 
 the allowance ceased. I know nothing 
 more of her. Probably she has inveigled 
 some one into marriage." 
 
 " Well, Barfoot," said the other, rolling 
 
THE SIMPLE FAITH. 271 
 
 about in his chair, " my opinion remains 
 the same. You are in debt to some 
 worthy woman to the extent of half your 
 income Be quick and find her. It will 
 be better for you." 
 
 "And do you suppose," asked Everard, 
 with a smile of indulgence, " that I could 
 marry on four hundred and fifty a year ? " 
 
 '' Heavens ! Why not ] " 
 
 " Quite impossible. A wife anight be 
 acceptable to me ; but marriage with 
 poverty — I know myself and the world 
 too well for that." 
 
 "Poverty!" screamed the mathema- 
 tician. " Four hundred and fifty pounds !" 
 
 *' Grinding poverty — for married people." 
 
 Micklethwaite burst into indignant elo- 
 quence, and Everard sat listening with the 
 restrained smile on his ]ips. 
 
X. 
 
 FIRST PRINCIPLES. 
 
 Having allowed exactly a week to go by, 
 Everarcl Barfoot made use of his cousin's 
 permission, and called upon her at nine in 
 the evening. Miss Barfoot's dinner-hour 
 was seven o'clock ; she and Rhoda, when 
 alone, rarely sat for more than half an hour 
 at table, and in this summer season they 
 often went out together at sunset to enjoy 
 a walk along the river. This evening they 
 had returned only a few minutes before 
 Everard's ring sounded at the door. 
 Miss Barfoot (they were just entering 
 the library) looked at her iriend and 
 smiled. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if that is the 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES. 273 
 
 young man. Very flattering if he has 
 come again so soon." 
 
 The visitor was in mirthful humour, and 
 met with a reception of corresponding- 
 tone. He remarked at once that Miss 
 Nunn had a nmch pleasanter aspect than a 
 week ago ; her smile was ready and agree- 
 able ; she sat in a sociable attitude and 
 answered a jesting triviality with indul- 
 gence. 
 
 " One of my reasons for coming to-day," 
 said Everard, " was to tell you a remark- 
 able story. It connects " — he addressed 
 his cousin — " with our talk about the 
 matrimonial disasters of those two friends 
 of mine. Do you remember the name of 
 Micklethwaite — a man who used to cram 
 me with mathematics ? — I thought you 
 would. He is on the point of marrying, 
 and his engagement has lasted just seven- 
 teen years." 
 
 *' The wisest of your friends, I should 
 say." 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " An excellent fellow. He is forty, and 
 the lady the same. An astonishing case 
 of constancy." 
 
 " And how is it likely to turn out ? " 
 " I can't predict, as the lady is unknown 
 to me. But," he added with facetious 
 gravity, '' I think it likely that they are 
 tolerably well acquainted with each other. 
 Nothing but sheer poverty has kept them 
 apart. Pathetic, don't you think ? I 
 have a theory that when an engagement 
 has lasted ten years, with constancy on 
 both sides, and poverty still prevents mar- 
 riage, the State ought to make provision 
 for a man in some way, according to his 
 social standing. When one thinks of it, a 
 whole socialistic system lies in that sug- 
 gestion." 
 
 " If," remarked Pthoda, " it were first 
 
 provided that no marriage should take 
 
 place until after a ten years' engagement." 
 
 "Yes," Barfoot assented, in his smoothest 
 
 and most graceful tone. *' That completes 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES. 275 
 
 the system. — Unless you like to add that 
 no engagement is permitted except be- 
 tween people who have passed a certain 
 examination ; equivalent, let us say, to 
 that which confers a University degree." 
 
 " Admirable. And no marriage, except 
 where both, for the whole decennium, have 
 earned their living by work that the State 
 recognizes." 
 
 "How would that affect Mr. Mickle- 
 thwaite's betrothed ? " asked Miss Barfoot. 
 
 " I believe she has supported herself, all 
 along, by teaching." 
 
 " Of course ! " exclaimed the other im- 
 patiently. " And more likely than not, 
 with loathing of her occupation. The 
 usual kind of drudgery, was it ? " 
 
 " After all, there must be some one to 
 teach children to read and w^ite." 
 
 "Yes;, but people who are thoroughly 
 well trained for the task, and who take a 
 pleasure in it. This lady may be an ex- 
 ception ; but I picture her as having spent 
 
 T 2 
 
276 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 a lifetime of uncongenial toil, longing 
 miserably for the day when poor Mr. 
 Micklethwaite was able to offer her a 
 home. That's the ordinary teacher- woman, 
 and we must abolish her altogether." 
 
 •'How are you to do that?" inquired 
 Everard suavely. " The average man 
 labours that he may be able to marry, and 
 the average woman certainly has the same 
 end in view. Are female teachers to be 
 vowed to celibacy ? " 
 
 " Nothing of the kind. But girls are to 
 be brought up to a calling in life, just as 
 men are. It's because they have no such 
 calling that, when need comes, they all 
 offer themselves as teachers. They under- 
 take one of the most difficult and arduous 
 pursuits as if it were as simple as washing- 
 up dishes. We can't earn money in any 
 other way, but we can teach children ! A 
 man only becomes a schoolmaster or tutor 
 when he has gone through laborious pre- 
 paration, — anything but wise or adequate, 
 
FIRST PRINCirLHS. 277 
 
 of course, but still conscious preparation ; 
 and only a very few men, comparatively, 
 clioose that line of work. Women must 
 have just as wide a choice." 
 
 " That's plausible, cousin Mary. But 
 remember that when a man chooses his 
 calling, he chooses it for life. A girl 
 cannot but remember that, if she marries, 
 her calling at once changes. The old busi- 
 ness is thrown aside — henceforth profit- 
 less." 
 
 " No. Not henceforth profitless ! There's 
 the very point I insist upon. So far is it 
 from profitless, that it has made her a 
 wholly different w^oman from what she 
 would otherwise have been. Instead of a 
 moping, mawkish creature, with — in most 
 instances — a very unhealthy mind, she is 
 a complete human being. She stands on 
 an equality with the man. He can't de- 
 spise her as he now does." 
 
 " Very good," assented Everard, observ- 
 ing Miss Nunn's satisfied smile. " I like 
 
278 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 that view very much. But what about 
 the great number of girls who are claimed 
 by domestic duties ? Do you abandon 
 them, with a helpless sigh, to be moping, 
 and mawkish, and unhealthy ? " 
 
 '' In the first place, there needn't be a 
 great number of unmarried women claimed 
 by such duties. Most of those you are 
 thinking of are not fulfilling a duty at 
 all ; they are only pottering about the 
 house, because they have nothing better 
 to do. And when the whole course of 
 female education is altered ; when girls 
 are trained as a matter of course to some 
 definite pursuit ; then those who really are 
 obliged to remain at home will do their 
 duty there in quite a different spirit. 
 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 parents, grow up 
 without a profession. There should be 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES. 271) 
 
 110 such thing as a class of females vulga- 
 rized by the necessity of finding daily 
 amusement." 
 
 "Nor of males, either, of course,' put in 
 Everard, stroking his beard. 
 
 " Nor of males either, cousin Everard." 
 
 " You thoroughly approve all this. Miss 
 Numi?" 
 
 " 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 marriao^e means disg-race." 
 
 " Ah ! Now do let me understand vou. 
 Why does it mean disgrace ? " 
 
 " Because the majority of men are with- 
 out 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 women as 
 
280 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 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 scrap-book, 
 
FIRST TRINCIPLES. 281 
 
 and Everard turned it over with interest. 
 The views were evidently made hy 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 Cumberland, or of the High- 
 lands." 
 
 " It was my play-ground 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 
 towm ! " 
 
 " One of the sleepiest spots in England, 
 I should say. The railway goes through 
 it now, but hasn't made the slightest 
 
282 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 difference. Nobody pulls down or builds ; 
 nobody opens a new shop ; nobody 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 cen- 
 tury.' " 
 
 " I can hardly believe it. — There will be 
 a disgraceful marriage at this beautiful old 
 church, and the sight of it will exasperate 
 you." 
 
 E/hoda 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 pronounce f and s. 
 I don't mind that sort of marriage a bit ! " 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES. 283 
 
 The listeners were both regarding her, 
 Miss Barfoot with an affectionate smile, 
 Everard with a puzzled, searching look, 
 ending in amusement. 
 
 " 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 passed, and the same 
 evening found Barfoot approaching the 
 house in Queen's Boad. To his great 
 annoyance he learnt that Miss Barfoot was 
 not at home ; she had dined, but after- 
 wards had gone out. He did not venture 
 to ask for Miss Nunn, and was moving 
 disappointedly away, when Bhoda 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. — 
 
284 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 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 
 come 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 appear- 
 ance 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 sex 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, 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES. 285 
 
 her process of growth. Hitherto he had 
 enjoyed no opportunity of studying this 
 type. For his cousin was a very 
 different person ; by liabit 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 wdth him as a male acquaintance 
 might have done, and he felt sure that her 
 behaviour would be the same under any 
 circumstances. He deliofhted in the frank- 
 ness 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 w^as 
 not beautiful ; yet even at the first 
 meeting it did not repel him. Studying 
 her features, he saw^ ho^v fine was their 
 expression. The prominent forehead, with 
 its little unevennesses that meant brains ; 
 
286 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 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 con- 
 stitution 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." 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES. 287 
 
 ■' 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 : 
 
 " x\re 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 happi- 
 ness of men." 
 
 " Indeed ? " escaped Rhoda's lips, which 
 had curled in irony. 
 
288 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " Don't misunderstand me. 1 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 ignobleness 
 of women. Think, and you- will grant 
 me this." 
 
 '* I see what you mean. — Men have 
 themselves to thank for it." 
 
 " Assuredly 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 
 class, and then rages against the criminals. 
 — But, you see, I am one of the men, 
 and an impatient one, too. The mass 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 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES. 289 
 
 that there are a milHon or so of us very 
 intelHgent arid 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 class — 
 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." 
 
 " Makhig 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 mtelligent men. As likely 
 as not — so preposterous are our conventions 
 — you have never heard it put honestly. 
 VOL. I. u 
 
290 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 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 circumstances 
 allowed, wives would be abandoned very 
 often indeed." 
 Rhoda laughed. 
 
 '' You regret that it isn't done ? " 
 " I prefer to say that I approve it when 
 it is done without disregard of common 
 humanity. There's my friend Orchard. 
 With him, it was suicide or freedom from 
 his hateful wife. Most happily, he was 
 able to make provision for her and the 
 children, and had strength to break his 
 bonds. If he had left them to starve, I 
 should have understood it, but couldn't 
 have approved it. There are men who 
 might follow his example, but prefer to 
 put up with a life of torture. Well, 
 they do prefer it, you see. I may think 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES. 291 
 
 that they are fooh'shly weak, but I can 
 only recognize that they make a choice 
 between two forms of suffering. They 
 have tender consciences ; the thought of 
 desertion is too painful to them. And 
 in a great number of cases, mere con- 
 siderations of money and the like keep a 
 man bound. But conscience and habit — 
 detestable habit — and fear of public opinion 
 generally hold him." 
 
 " All this is very interesting," said 
 E/hoda, with grave irony. " By the bye, 
 under the head of detestable habit you 
 would put love of children ] " 
 
 Barfoot hesitated. 
 
 " That's a motive I oughtn't to have 
 left out. Yet I believe, for most men, 
 it is represented by conscience. The love 
 of children would not generally, in itself, 
 be strong- enouMi to outweiofh matrimonial 
 wretchedness. Many an mtelligent and 
 kmd-hearted man has been driven from 
 his wife notwithstanding thought for his 
 
 u 2 
 
292 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 children. He provides for them as well 
 as he can, — but, and even for their sakes, 
 he must save himself." 
 
 The expression of Rhoda s countenance 
 suddenly changed. An extreme mobility 
 of facial muscles was one of the things 
 in her that held Everard's atteution. 
 
 " There's something in your way of 
 putting it that I don't like," she said, 
 with much frankness, " but of course I 
 agree with you in the facts. I am con- 
 vinced that most marriages are hateful, 
 from every point of view. — But there will 
 be no improvement until women have 
 revolted against marriage, from a reason- 
 able conviction of its hatefulness. " 
 
 " I wish you all success — most sincerely 
 I do." 
 
 He paused, looked about the room, and 
 stroked his ear. Then, in a grave tone : 
 
 "My own ideal of marriage involves 
 perfect freedom on both sides. Of course 
 it could only be realized where conditions 
 
FiKST principlp:s. 293 
 
 are favourable ; poverty and other 
 wretched thinor-s force us so often to sin 
 against our best beliefs. But there are 
 plenty of people who mig-ht marry on 
 these ideal terms. Perfect freedom, 
 sanctioned by the sense of intelligent 
 society, would abolish most of the evils 
 we have in mind. — But women must first 
 be civilized ; you are quite right in that." 
 
 The door opened, and Miss Barfoot came 
 in. She glanced from one to the other, 
 and without speaking gave her hand to 
 Everard. 
 
 " How is your patient ? " he asked. 
 
 " A little better, I think. It is nothmg 
 dangerous. — Here's a. letter from your 
 brother Tom. Perhaps 1 had better read 
 it at once ; there may be news you would 
 like to hear." 
 
 She sat down and broke the envelope ; 
 whilst she was reading the letter to 
 herself, Ehoda quietly left the room. 
 
 *' Yes, there is news," said Miss Barfoot 
 
294 THE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 presently, ''and of a disagreeable kind. 
 A few weeks ago, — before writing, that 
 is, — he was thrown ofP a horse and had 
 a rib fractured." 
 
 " Oh ? How is he going on ] " 
 
 " Getting right again, he says. — And 
 they are coming back to England ; his 
 wife's consumptive symptoms have dis- 
 appeared, of course, and she is very im- 
 patient to leave Madeira. — It is to be 
 hoped she will allow poor Tom time to 
 get his rib set. Probably that considera- 
 tion doesn't weigh much with her. — He 
 says that he is writing to you by the 
 same mail." 
 
 " Poor old fellow ! " said Everard, with 
 feeling. " Does he complain about his 
 wife ? " 
 
 " He never has done till now, but 
 there's a sentence here that reads doubt- 
 fully. ' Muriel,' he says, ' has been 
 terribly upset about my accident. I 
 can't persuade her that I didn't get 
 
FIRST PRINCIPLES. 295 
 
 thrown on purpose ; yet I assure you 
 I didn't; " 
 
 Everard laughed. 
 
 " If old Tom becomes ironical, he must 
 be hard driven. I have no great longing 
 to meet Mrs. Thomas." 
 
 " She's a silly and a vulgar woman. 
 But I told him that in plain terms, 
 before he married. It says much for his 
 good nature that he remains so friendly 
 with me. — Read the letter, Everard." 
 
 He did so. 
 
 " H'm — very kind things about me. 
 Good old Tom !— Why don't I marry *? 
 Well now, one would have thought that 
 his own experience — " 
 
 Miss Barfoot began to talk about some- 
 thing else. Before very long, Bhoda came 
 back, and in the conversation that followed 
 it was mentioned that she would leave for 
 her holiday in two days. 
 
 " I have been reading about Cheddar," 
 exclaimed Everard, with animation. 
 
296 xHE ODD WOMEN. 
 
 " There's a flower grows among the rocks 
 called the Cheddar pink. Do you 
 know it ?" 
 
 " Oh, very well," Rhoda answered. 
 " I'll bring you some specimens." 
 
 " Will you '^ That's very kind." 
 
 " Bring me a genuine pound or two of 
 the cheese, Rhoda," requested Miss Barfoot 
 gaily. 
 
 '' I will. — What they sell in the shops 
 there is all sham, Mr. Barfoot, — like so 
 much else in this world." 
 
 " I care nothing about the cheese. 
 That's all very well for a matter-of-fact 
 person like cousin Mary, but / have a 
 strong vein of poetry ; you must have 
 noticed it *? " 
 
 When they shook hands : 
 
 " You will really bring me the flowers ? " 
 Everard said, in a voice sensibly softened. 
 
 " I will make a note of it," was the 
 reassurinof answer. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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