“Nonsense, my dear Teresa,” said Mrs. Vachell. “They are the keenest of all that their daughters should have ‘the schooling.’”
“Yes, but that is only so that they may not have to do housework or be ordered about in shops. They think that education for a girl means her marrying into another class and keeping a servant. They are just like us. They hate squalor and want to live like we do. They don’t care for learning in itself any more than we do——”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Fulton,” Mr. Vachell interrupted. “Do I understand that you put down my laborious work of research to a sordid hope of fitting myself to dine at Buckingham Palace, or even living there some day? You are wounding me very much.”
“No, of course not,” said Teresa. “You are quite different; you are a man. I am sure lots of men wanted to learn because they are interested. I was thinking of what they wanted for their daughters.”
“Well, what do you think the Principal wants for our excellent Emma?” he went on. “That she should marry the Prince of Wales? I don’t believe she has got the ghost of a chance, so you had better stop her while you can.”
“Don’t muddle up what I say like that,” said Teresa. “Emma only wants to stop mothers giving their babies rhubarb pie, and to persuade fathers to buy bread instead of beer; and she wants them to be clean and have time and money enough to find out what they can do.”
“But where does Maisie Trotter’s husband come in?” asked Evan, who was also grateful for the diversion that Teresa had made.
“I haven’t the least idea. I have lost sight of him. Oh, no, I remember; he was to be Prime Minister. It will be no good for Maisie to live up to him in the way of education, because his sisters will do that. He will want a pink and white princess who can detect a crumpled rose leaf under the mattress. I assure you that is what working people ask for. It is the really valuable thing that they have lost, and they are often so silly, poor darlings, and think it comes with money. You know how fussy people like the Prices are about breeding, and they spend and spend, trying to buy it somehow and knowing that they fail. It is so sad.”
“Oh, everything is sad if you notice it,” said Mrs. Trotter impatiently. “I don’t believe in pitying people for not being different from what they are. I once met a woman who said she disliked travelling in public conveyances because women’s hats were pathetic; something about the trimming; if you ever heard such nonsense! Now I’m off and thank you all very much for a pleasant evening. Anyone coming my way?”