Dodge was right. Algitha’s healthy nature, strengthened by happiness and success, was of infinite help to Hadria, in her efforts to shake off the symptoms that had made her frightened of herself. She did not know what tricks exhausted nerves might play upon her, or what tortures they had in store for her.
Algitha’s judgments were inclined to be definite and clear-cut to the point of hardness. She did not know the meaning of over-wrought nerves, nor the difficulties of a nature more imaginative than her own. She had found her will-power sufficient to meet all the emergencies of her life, and she was disposed to feel a little contemptuous, especially of late, at a persistent condition of difficulty and confusion. Her impulse was to attack such a condition and bring it to order, by force of will. The active temperament is almost bound to misunderstand the imaginative or artistic spirit and its difficulties. A real cul de sac was to Algitha almost unthinkable. There must be some means of finding one’s way out.
Hadria’s present attitude amazed and irritated her. She objected to her regular church-going, as dishonest. Was she not, for the sake of peace and quietness, professing that which she did not believe? And how was it that she was growing more into favour with the Jordans and Walkers and all the narrow, wooden-headed people? Surely an ominous sign.
After the long self-suppression, the long playing of a fatiguing rôle, Hadria felt an unspeakable relief in Algitha’s presence. To her, at least, she need not assume a false cheerfulness.
Algitha noticed, with anxiety, the change that was coming over her sister, the spirit of tired acquiescence, the insidious creeping in of a slightly cynical view of things, in place of the brave, believing, imaginative outlook that she had once held towards life. This cynicism was more or less superficial however, as Algitha found when they had a long and intimate conversation, one evening in Hadria’s room, by her fire; but it was painful to Algitha to hear the hopeless tones of her sister’s voice, now that she was speaking simply and sincerely, without bitterness, but without what is usually called resignation.
“No; I don’t think it is all for the best,” said Hadria. “I think, as far as my influence goes, it is all for the worst. What fatal argument my life will give to those who are seeking reasons to hold our sex in the old bondage! My struggles, my failure, will add to the staggering weight that we all stumble under. I have hindered more—that is the bitter thing—by having tried and failed, than if I had never tried at all. Mrs. Walker, Mrs. Gordon herself, has given less arguments to the oppressors than I.”
“But why? But how?” cried Algitha incredulously.
“Because no one can point to them, as they will to me, and say, ‘See, what a ghastly failure! See how feeble after all, are these pretentious women of the new order, who begin by denying the sufficiency of the life assigned them, by common consent, and end by failing in that and in the other which they aspire to. What has become of all the talent and all the theories and resolves?’ And so the next girl who dares to have ambitions, and dares to scorn the rôle of adventuress that society allots to her, will have the harder fate because of my attempt. Now nothing in the whole world,” cried Hadria, her voice losing the even tones in which she had been speaking, “nothing in the whole world will ever persuade me that that is all for the best!”
“I never said it was, but when a thing has to be, why not make the best of it?”
“And so persuade people that all is well, when all is not well! That’s exactly what women always do and always have done, and plume themselves upon it. And so this ridiculous farce is kept up, because these wretched women go smiling about the world, hugging their stupid resignation to their hearts, and pampering up their sickly virtue, at the expense of their sex. Hang their virtue!”