“Of course you know,” said Mrs Fortescue, throwing meaning into her tone, “that both girls went to London this morning to spend the day with their guardian and lawyer, Mr Timmins, of Pye’s Court.”
“No, I didn’t know it,” said Susie. Then she added, seeing that something was expected of her: “Did they go alone?”
“Well, they went together first-class, and were met at the station by Mr Timmins’ confidential clerk. They are coming back to night.”
“Dear children!” said Susie, in her sweet voice. “I am so fond of them both.”
“And they are fond of you, Susie.”
“I wonder what they will do in the future,” said Susie. “Is it really true that they have left school?”
“Yes, it is quite true,” said Mrs Fortescue. “I am sorry,” answered Susie.
“Sorry? What do you mean? Florence is eighteen and Brenda nineteen.”
“Yes,” said Susie; “but one only begins to appreciate school at that age. Before, one is too young and lessons seem a useless drudgery. One’s mind is not big enough or broad enough to take in the advantages of learning. It is a great, great pity that Mr Timmins does not give them two more years at Newnham or Girton or some such place.”
“Oh, my dear?” said Mrs Fortescue, throwing up her hands. “How can you say anything so horrible! Newnham or Girton! They would be simply ruined; and men do so hate learned women.”