Rhoda paused and shook her head.
“My dear,” said the elder woman gravely, “believe me that the less we talk or think about such things the better for the peace of us all. The odious fault of working-class girls, in town and country alike, is that they are absorbed in preoccupation with their animal nature. We, thanks to our education and the tone of our society, manage to keep that in the background. Don’t interfere with this satisfactory state of things. Be content to show our girls that it is their duty to lead a life of effort—to earn their bread and to cultivate their minds. Simply ignore marriage—that’s the wisest. Behave as if the thing didn’t exist. You will do positive harm by taking the other course—the aggressive course.”
“I shall obey you.”
“Good, humble creature!” laughed Miss Barfoot. “Come, let us be off to Chelsea. Did Miss Grey finish that copy for Mr. Houghton?”
“Yes, it has gone to post.”
“Look, here’s a big manuscript from our friend the antiquary. Two of the girls must get to work on it at once in the morning.”
Manuscripts entrusted to them were kept in a fire-proof safe. When this had been locked up, the ladies went to their dressing-room and prepared for departure. The people who lived on the premises were responsible for cleaning the rooms and other care; to them Rhoda delivered the door-keys.
Miss Barfoot was grave and silent on the way home. Rhoda, annoyed at the subject that doubtless occupied her friend’s thoughts, gave herself up to reflections of her own.