“There, you see you are always discontented about your home. It’s no use; the only thing is for you to earn your own living.”
“I will earn my own living.”
“What will you do? Will you be examined for a pupil-teacher? That is a very nice occupation for girls.”
“What chance would I have in a competitive exam. against Goulburn girls? They all have good teachers and give up their time to study. I only have old Harris, and he is the most idiotic old animal alive; besides, I loathe the very thought of teaching. I’d as soon go on the wallaby.”
“You are not old enough to be a general servant or a cook; you have not experience enough to be a housemaid; you don’t take to sewing, and there is no chance of being accepted as a hospital nurse: you must confess there is nothing you can do. You are really a very useless girl for your age.”
“There are heaps of things I could do.”
“Tell me a few of them.”
I was silent. The professions at which I felt I had the latent power to excel, were I but given a chance, were in a sphere far above us, and to mention my feelings and ambitions to my matter-of-fact practical mother would bring upon me worse ridicule than I was already forced to endure day by day.
“Mention a few of the things you could do.”
I might as well have named flying as the professions I was thinking of. Music was the least unmentionable of them, so I brought it forward.