[XII]
The Daughter who stays at Home
"I suppose you think," Penelope threw at me with unnecessary vehemence, "that it is only the daughter who lives away from home who is really a rebel."
"On the contrary," I said, "most rebellion is bred in the home. Napoleon said——"
"Oh, I know what Napoleon said," interrupted Penelope. "At least, I know the kind of thing he must have said, if you want to quote it. Seriously, I don't think you know what it feels like to be the daughter who comes back to live at home, after being handicapped by a modern education. You see, the daughter has gone on, and the home hasn't. It isn't mother's fault, because she naturally thought she was fitting me for home life when she let me take a college course in housewifery. But what is the use of knowing all about the chemistry of cooking and the science of house-cleaning, if you have to apply it in a home that has stayed in the same place for a hundred years? Everything and everybody is against one, from the abominable kitchen-range to the cook who has been with mother ever since she was married. You are going to say Napoleon again."
"I was going to say," was the cautious reply she received to this, "that the only victories which leave no regret are those that are gained over ignorance."
"Who said that?" demanded Penelope suspiciously.
"Napoleon," I admitted.
"Now that we have got rid of Napoleon," proceeded Penelope, coldly, "perhaps you will take some interest in—oh, what rubbish to say that about the victories that are gained over ignorance! All the victories you win at home are victories over ignorance, and they always leave regret behind, always, always! That is why it is much worse to win than to lose, when you fight at home, ever so much worse!"
"Having got rid of Napoleon," I said soothingly, "why do we not talk as though we had? Tell me what is wrong with your mother's house, from the college point of view."