“My dear mother, Gwen was saved in time, for she would have turned into a Lady Vera had not Society’s foundations suddenly collapsed. She had been taught all the tricks of a perfect woman of the world, and would have even outdistanced Lady Vera, for she possessed more brains and more animal spirits. So, you see, there is still hope for a Sinclair to develop into a paragon of virtue, to suit even your fastidious ideal of a son-in-law.”
“My dear Eva, pray do not accuse me of such a Philistine notion as to require in my son-in-law any of the qualities absolutely needed in a bank accountant or in a land agent. Heaven forbid! I am larger minded than that, and I know that a man must live. You see, Sinclair is all right, and we all run after him and make love to him, and look forward to the clever sayings that drop from his cynical lips; but”—a pout was on her lips, as she looked for the proper word to express her sentiment—“well, he is not what we are accustomed to consider a—gentleman. It is extraordinary how these upstarts end by believing they can do anything. His father was tutor to Lord Farmiloe’s son; and, instead of going into the army as his father wished him to do, Sinclair, after leaving Oxford, began to dabble in questionable journalism, and soon developing that wonderful power of criticism, he became the terror of all artists, known or unknown. I know, perhaps better than most women, what it is to suffer from a man who does not consider his wife’s love all-sufficient to his happiness.” Lady Carey relaxed her hard expression, her eyes were for one instant dimmed by a passing mist, and her lips trembled, whilst a lump rose in her throat; but it was soon over. “Your father was a gentleman, and I could not wish a daughter of mine to have a more courteous man for a husband. He treated me, before the world, as he ought to have treated the woman who bore his name, and carried on his numerous intrigues with the discipline and gallantry of a true soldier, who held his sword at the service of his king, and his soul at the mercy of his God, but brooked no restraint nor reproach from anyone in this world.”
“What a convenient way of dismissing all moral obligations,” remarked Eva.
“When you have seen as much of the world as I have, my dear Eva, you will know that philosophy plays a large part in our social training, and helps to soften the coarseness of life. We leave the rioting of the mind to the plebeian classes, who have not, like us, to keep up appearances and traditions of bienséance.”
“Yes, but the world’s philosophy is no longer the enduring stoicism of a Spartan, nor is it the calm acceptance of human frailty of a Marcus Aurelius; it is a cynical acquiescence in the general depravity of the over-fed and over-clothed worshippers of Mammon, who smile at their neighbour’s weaknesses, hoping that he in turn will shut his eyes to their foibles. Philosophy is your capital which pays you back heavy dividends.”
“How bitter you are, my dear girl. You are too young to think or speak like that; and you cannot lay down any such rule of conduct. Of course I know that things are awkward at present, and that the future is not pleasant to contemplate; and it grieves me to the quick that my child should be in close contact with the vulgarity of life.”
“Do not worry yourself, mother; I am seeing life for the first time, and it is very beautiful. Society is as far removed from true life as the sun is from the moon. You fashionable mothers have a strange way of bringing up your children. As the Chinese tortured their women’s toes to prevent their running away, so you cramped our youthful minds, obliterated our organ of perception and twisted our judgment so as to make us incapable of distinguishing right from wrong. You showed us little pictures encircled in trivial frames, and told us that these were the sights we had to view for the rest of our lives. We put questions to you about the people with whom you surrounded us in our infancy, but you answered scornfully, that they were our inferiors whom we need not consider. Later on, the same game of mystification went on with our teachers whom we had to treat only as educational cramming machines. When we developed into women, the bandages were swathed more tightly round our expanding brains, and we were then informed, at the most perplexing cross-roads of our lives, that no decent girl inquired into any social problems: a tub, a game of golf, and the admission into the smart set were all-sufficient to assuage feminine yearning. If, as often happened, the hygienic and worldly remedies failed to cure the patient, the whole was dismissed in these words: ‘A lady does not mention such things!’ This was the prologue to matrimony! When you, the mothers of Society, had brought your victims safely to the stake, you turned your eyes up to heaven and begged for God’s blessing, which you deserved less than the devil’s benediction, for in your culpable and wilful ignorance you were playing a ghastly trick in sending out defenceless beings into an arena of wild beasts. Do you believe that your drawing-room philosophy will be of any use to the victims of your social wisdom? No, your philosophy thrives on champagne and truffles, not on the understanding of human passions. How often has a girl brought to the conjugal market a young heart and a healthy constitution, to close a bargain with a cynical flesh dealer; and very soon had to learn how to smuggle cunningly out of the unfair contract? But it was useless to recriminate with the only friend God gave us—our mothers; for we were at once advised to read the first part of the Marriage Service; and we learnt through cruel experience that there was no escape, no relief, for those born and bred in our unnatural Society.”
“What has come over you, Eva? Who has been poisoning your mind?” Lady Carey’s voice was trembling, and she did not dare look at her daughter. The latter impulsively fell on her knees, and encircling her mother’s waist with her arms, she said passionately,—
“You believed us to be safe when you had told us never to look inside a certain closet; and like Blue Beard you fed us on kick-shaws and soap-bubbles as long as we never opened that secret closet—life. Why were we not to know the realities of existence? Why did you travesty life into a Music Hall burlesque? What God created, you belittled; what nature gave to man, you turned into a deadly weapon against him. Love came into the world, pure and generous, but it was led astray in social haunts and became debauchery; ambition prompted man to create something true and beautiful, but he wandered in trimmed paths of artificiality, and his natural instinct was transformed into a passion for worldly power and riches. What you called character was merely callousness erected into a principle; what you thought was philosophy was only an abnormal power of frivolity, which would have made even a butterfly blush. Oh! mother, mother, cannot you see what a sham it all was?”
Lady Carey was not unintelligent; she knew that what her daughter said was perfectly correct. She quite realised that this was what they had lived through, but she did not approve of the spirit of revolt, and always had considered it vulgar to kick against the rules of Society. Still, her opposition was not altogether sincere, and her displeasure did not arise at what her daughter said, but at the fact of her daughter saying it. Had Lionel, or any other, put forward these ideas, she would have been the first to laugh, and to agree with what he said.