“I am sure you used to think about all this, Graeme—about woman’s work, and how stupid it is to live on in this way, ‘waiting at the pool,’ as Hannah Lovejoy used to say. I declare it is undignified, and puts thoughts into people’s heads, as though—. It would be different, if we were living in our father’s house, or, even, if we had money of our own. You used to think so, yourself, Graeme. Why should Arthur and Harry do everything for us?”
“Yes, I remember. When Fanny first came, I think I had as many thoughts about all this as you have now. I was very restless, and discontented, and determined to go away. I talked to Janet about it one night.”
“And she convinced you that you were all wrong, I suppose,” said Rose. “And you were content ever after.”
“No. I don’t think she helped me much, at the time. But her great doctrine of patience and quiet waiting, and circumstances together, convinced me, afterward, that I did not need to go in search of my work, as seemed to me then the thing to do. I found it ready at my hand, though I could not see it then. Her wisdom was higher than mine. She said that out of it all would come content, and so it has.”
“That was not saying much!” said Rose.
“No. It did not seem to me, much, when she said it. But she was right, all the same, and I was wrong. And it has all happened much better than if I had got my own way.”
“But, Graeme, all that would not apply in the case of women, generally. That is begging the question, as Harry would say.”
“But I am not speaking of women in general; I am speaking about myself, and my own work; and I say Janet was wise, though I was far from thinking it that night, as I mind well.”
There was a pause, and then Rose said, in a low voice.
“It may have been right for you to stay at home then, and care for the rest of us, but it would be quite different now, with me, and I think with you, too. And how many women have to go and make a way of life for themselves. And it is right that it should be so; and Graeme, we might try.”