“You must have read some of my thoughts,” she said. “I often wonder how it is, that the world can drill women into goodness at all.” She raised her head, and went on in a low, bitter tone: “I often wonder why it is, that they don’t, one and all, fling up their rôles and revenge themselves to the best of their ability—intentionally, I mean—upon the world that makes them live under a permanent insult. I think, at times, that I should thoroughly enjoy spending my life in sheer, unmitigated vengeance, and if I did”—she clenched her hands, and her eyes blazed—“if I did, I would not do my work by halves!”
“I am sure you would not,” said the Professor dryly.
“But I shall not do anything of the kind,” she added in a different tone; “women don’t. They always try to be good, always, always—the more fools they! And the more they are good, the worse things get.”
“Ah! I thought there was some heterodox sentiment lurking here at high pressure!” exclaimed the Professor.
Hadria sighed. “I have just been receiving good advice from Mrs. Gordon,” she said, flushing at the remembrance, “and I think if you knew the sort of counsel it was, that you would understand one’s feeling a little fierce and bitter. Oh, not with her, poor woman! She meant it in kindness. But the most cutting thing of all is, that what she said is true!”
“That is exactly the worst thing,” said the Professor, who seemed to have divined the nature of Mrs. Gordon’s advice.
Hadria coloured. It hurt as well as astonished her, that he should guess what had been said.
“Ah! a woman ought to be born without pride, or not at all! I wish to heaven that our fatal sex could be utterly stamped out!”
The Professor smiled, a little sadly, at her vehemence.
“We are accused of being at the bottom of every evil under heaven,” she added, “and I think it is true. That is some consolation, at any rate!”