“The world has,” said Miss Maltby-Neverson gently.
“I’m afraid I’m one of the old-fashioned sort,” said Mrs. Preemby.
“Christina Alberta isn’t.”
“Let the man be distinguished abroad and the woman distinguished at home,” said Mrs. Preemby. “I’m sorry to differ from you, Miss Maltby-Neverson, but one cannot help one’s opinions.”
“It depends upon ourselves,” said Miss Maltby-Neverson.
“I’m afraid I like men to rule,” said Mrs. Preemby. “Woman has her place in the world, and it isn’t man’s.”
“But I thought Mr. Preemby rather favoured the scholarship idea.”
Mrs. Preemby was baffled. “He did,” she said as though she did not see clearly what that had to do with the matter. “Give the thing a trial,” said Miss Maltby-Neverson. “After all, she may not win this scholarship.”
But Christina Alberta won it with marks to spare. She took no risks. It was a biennial scholarship which had been established by a benefactor of advanced views. It was tenable at the London School of Economics. As soon as Christina Alberta knew she had secured it she went, without consulting her mother or anyone, to a hairdresser’s and had her hair bobbed. To Mrs. Preemby this was almost a worse blow than the scholarship. She surveyed her shock-headed, handsome-nosed daughter in her short gymnastic skirts with a qualm of sincere hatred.
She wished she could make her daughter feel about herself as she felt about her. “I wish you could only see yourself,” she said with concentrated bitterness.