“It is not the custom, that’s all. I was amenable to my mother,” Mrs. M’Quade replied, “and I expect my daughter to be amenable to me. It is not a question of want of independence; the child is independent enough—but a girl’s mind and a boy’s mind are not the same, they’re different.”
“Only because men and foolish mothers have made them so,” persisted Regina.
“Ah, well, you and I agree to differ on those points,—don’t we, Mrs. Whittaker? Heaven forbid that I should make my girl less independent than I would wish to be myself, but to shut the mother out of her life is no particular sign of a girl’s independence—at least, that is the way in which I look at it. Then I suppose,” went on the doctor’s wife, “that you will, a little later on, allow your girls to have a latchkey?”
“Certainly, if they wish to have a latchkey. Why not?” Mrs. Whittaker demanded. “I should not expect them to come in at three o’clock in the morning because I gave them the privilege of a latchkey. If they misused the privilege, I should take it away from them.”
“You are beyond me,” the doctor’s wife cried. “With regard to my Georgie, all I can say is, that until she is married she will have to live just as I lived until I was married; that is to say, she will do what I tell her, she will wear what I advise her to wear, or what I give her to wear; she will have a very good time, but she will not have a separate existence from mine until she goes into a home of her own, or until I am carried out to my last long resting-place.”
“We are good friends,” said Regina, with an air of superb tolerance, “we are good friends, Mrs. M’Quade, and I hope we shall always continue so; but in some of our ideas we are diametrically opposed to each other, and we must agree to differ.”
But to go back to the question of the entrance of Maud Whittaker into society, not a little to her parents’ surprise, Maud absolutely declined to do anything of the kind.
“Come out—go into society!” she echoed. “Oh, there will be time enough for that when Ju is ready.”