“What’s the use of pity if one runs on in the old groove? We must prevent the market from being drugged, by diverting the supply into new lines.”
“Are there any new lines?” asked Fanny, surprised at the progress of society in her absence.
“Homoeopathic doctresses,” whispered Grace; who, dutiful as she was, sometimes indulged in a little fun, which Rachel would affably receive unless she took it in earnest, as in the present instance.
“Why not—I ask why not? Some women have broken through prejudice, and why should not others? Do you not agree with me, Fanny, that female medical men—I mean medical women—would be an infinite boon?”
“It would be very nice if they would never be nervous.”
“Nerves are merely a matter of training. Think of the numbers that might be removed from the responsibility of incompetently educating! I declare that to tempt a person into the office of governess, instead of opening a new field to her, is the most short-sighted indolence.”
“I don’t want to tempt any one,” said Fanny. “She ought to have been out before and be experienced, only she most be kind to the poor boys. I wanted the Major to inquire in London, but he said perhaps I might hear of some one here.”
“That was right, my dear,” returned her aunt. “A gentleman, an officer, could not do much in such a matter.”
“He always does manage whatever one wants.”
At which speech Rachel cast a glance towards her mother, and saw her look questioning and perplexed.