“I’m sure,” said Vera, perhaps a little nettled by attention paid so long to Agatha, “I can’t see the sense of it all; I think a woman is made just to love her husband, and be his pet, without all that fuss about societies, and speeches and learning and fuss!” And she gave a little caress to Hubert’s hand, which was returned, as he said, “She may well be loved, but, without publicly coming forward, she may become the more valuable to her home.”
“Of course she may, at home or abroad. She ought—” began Agatha, but Vera snapped her off. “Well, it only comes to being one of a lot of horrid old maids; and you don’t want me to be one of them, do you, darling? Come and look at my doves!”
“What do you think of it all, sister?” asked Paulina.
“So far as I grasp the subject,” said Magdalen, to whom, of course, this was not new, “I think that if a larger scope is to be given to women, it is for the sake and under the direction of the Church that it can be rightly and safely used.”
She knew she was speaking by rote, and was not surprised that Agatha said, “That is just what one has heard so often, and what Miss Merrifield harped upon! I want to breathe in a fresh atmosphere beyond the old traditions, and know which are Divine and which are only the superstructure of those who have always had the dominion and justified it in their own way!”
“Who gave them that dominion?” said Magdalen.
“Brute strength,” began Agatha.
“Nag, Nag!” cried Paula. “Surely you believe—”
“I did not say—I did not mean—I only meant to think it out, and understand what is Divine and what is in the eternal fitness of things.”
Here came an interruption, leaving Magdalen conscious of the want of preparation for guiding the thought of these young things, and of self-reproach too, for having let herself be so absorbed in the thought of “her broken reed of earth beneath,” as not to have dwelt on what might be the deep impressions of the young sisters under her charge.