The Daughters of Danaus Part 45

"The present age is truly a strange one," she exclaimed.

"Do you think so? It always seems to me that the present age is finding out for the first time how very strange all the _other_ ages have been."

"However that may be, it seems to me, that a sort of s.h.i.+ver is going through all Society, as if it had suddenly become very much aware of things and couldn't make them out--nor itself."

"Like a creature beginning to struggle through a bad illness. I do think it is all extremely remarkable, especially the bad illness."

"You are as strange as your epoch," cried Lady Engleton.

"It is a sorry sign when one remarks health instead of disease."

"Upon my word, you have a wholesome confidence in yourself!"

"I do not, in that respect, differ from my kind," Hadria returned calmly.

"It is that which _was_ that seems to you astonis.h.i.+ng, not that which is to be," Lady Engleton commented, pensively. "For my part I confess I am frightened, almost terrified at times, at that which is to be."

"I am frightened, terrified, so that the thought becomes unbearable, at that which _is_," said Hadria.

There was a long silence. Lady Engleton appeared to be again plunged in thought.

"The maternal instinct--yes; it seems to be round that unacknowledged centre that the whole storm is raging."

"A desperate question that Society shrinks from in terror: whether women shall be expected to conduct themselves as if the instinct had been weighed out accurately, like weekly stores, and given to all alike, or whether choice and individual feeling is to be held lawful in this matter--_there_ is the red-hot heart of the battle."

"Remember men of science are against freedom in this respect. (I do wish _our_ man of science would make haste.)"

"They rush to the rescue when they see the sentimental defences giving way," said Hadria. "If the 'sacred privilege' and 'n.o.blest vocation'

safeguards won't hold, science must throw up entrenchments."

"I prefer the more romantic and sentimental presentment of the matter,"

said Lady Engleton.

"Naturally. Ah! it is pathetic, the way we have tried to make things decorative; but it won't hold out much longer. Women are driving their masters to plain speaking--the ornaments are being dragged down. And what do we find? Bare and very ugly fact. And if we venture to hint that this unsatisfactory skeleton may be modified in form, science becomes stern. She wishes things, in this department, left as they are. Women are made for purposes of reproduction; let them clearly understand that.

No picking and choosing."

"Men pick and choose, it is true," observed Lady Engleton in a musing tone, as if thinking aloud.

"Ah, but that's different--a real scientific argument, though a superficial observer might not credit it. At any rate, it is quite sufficiently scientific for this particular subject. Our leaders of thought don't bring out their Sunday-best logic on this question. They lounge in dressing-gown and slippers. One gets to know the oriental pattern of that dressing-gown and the worn-down heels of those old slippers."

"They may be right though, notwithstanding their logic," said Lady Engleton.

"By good luck, not good guidance. I wonder what her Serene Highness Science would say if she heard us?"

"That we two ignorant creatures are very presumptuous."

"Yes, people always fall back on that, when they can't refute you."

Lady Engleton smiled.

"I should like to hear the question discussed by really competent persons. (Well, if luncheon is dead cold it will be his own fault.)"

"Oh, really competent persons will tell us all about the possibilities of woman: her feelings, desires, capabilities, and limitations, now and for all time to come. And the wildly funny thing is that women are ready, with open mouths, to reverently swallow this male verdict on their inherent nature, as if it were gospel divinely inspired. I may appear a little inconsistent," Hadria added with a laugh, "but I do think women are fools!"

They had strolled on along the path till they came to the schoolmistress's grave, which was green and daisy-covered, as if many years had pa.s.sed since her burial. Hadria stood, for a moment, looking down at it.

"Fools, fools, unutterable, irredeemable fools!" she burst out.

"My dear, my dear, we are in a churchyard," remonstrated Lady Engleton, half laughing.

"We are at this grave," said Hadria.

"The poor woman would have been among the first to approve of the whole scheme, though it places her here beneath the daisies."

"Exactly. Am I not justified then in crying 'fool'? Don't imagine that I exclude myself," she added.

"I think you might be less liable to error if you _were_ rather more of a fool, if I may say so," observed Lady Engleton.

"Oh error! I daresay. One can guard against that, after a fas.h.i.+on, by never making a stretch after truth. And the reward comes, of its kind.

How green the grave is. The gra.s.s grows so fast on graves."

Lady Engleton could not bear a churchyard. It made one think too seriously.

"Oh, you needn't unless you like!" said Hadria with a laugh. "Indeed a churchyard might rather teach us what nonsense it is to take things seriously--our little affairs. This poor woman, a short while ago, was dying of grief and shame and agony, and the village was stirred with excitement, as if the solar system had come to grief. It all seemed so stupendous and important, yet now--look at that tall gra.s.s waving in the wind!"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Professor Theobald had been engaged, for the last ten minutes, in instructing Joseph Fleming and a few stragglers, among whom was Dodge, in the characteristics of ancient architecture. He was pointing out the fine Norman window of the south transept, Joseph nodding wearily, Dodge leaning judicially on his broom and listening with attention. Joseph, as Lady Engleton remarked, was evidently bearing the Normans a bitter grudge for making interesting arches. The Professor seemed to have no notion of tempering the wind of his instruction to the shorn lambs of his audience.

"I _can't_ understand why he does not join us," said Lady Engleton. "It must be nearly luncheon time. However, it doesn't much matter, as everyone seems to be up here. I wonder," she went on after a pause, "what the bride would think if she had heard our conversation this morning!"

"Probably she would recognize many a half-thought of her own," said Hadria.

Lady Engleton shook her head.

"They alarm me, all these ideas. For myself, I feel bound to accept the decision of wise and good men, who have studied social questions deeply."

Personal feeling had finally overcome her desire to fight off the influence of tradition.

"I do not feel competent to judge in a matter so complex, and must be content to abide by the opinions of those who have knowledge and experience."

Lady Engleton thus retreated hastily behind cover. That was a strategic movement always available in difficulties, and it left one's companion in speculation alone in the open, arrogantly sustaining an eagle-gaze in the sun's face. The advantages of feminine humility were obvious. One could come out for a skirmish and then run for shelter, in awkward moments. No woman ought to venture out on the bare plain without a provision of the kind.

Hadria had a curious sensation of being so exposed, when Lady Engleton retreated behind her "good and wise men," and she had the usual feminine sense of discomfort in the feeling of presumption that it produced.