“Was Lennox in very low spirits when he came back?” asked Celia in the first place, instead of answering Louise. “That’s one thing settled. It’s as certain as anything can be that he need never dream of Winifred. I have come not to wish it. She is too prejudiced to do him justice.”
“I think so too,” said Louise. “It is only for papa’s and mamma’s sake I regret it now. No, he was not low-spirited. He has made up his mind to it, I think. And,”—she hesitated—“he even laughs a little at Winifred sometimes.”
Celia’s colour rose.
“That is very presumptuous of him,” she said, but she checked herself. “Of course he can’t understand her, so perhaps it is a good thing if he takes that line. She has quite decided, Louise. It is all settled. She is going to London in January, for good.”
Louise drew a deep breath.
“I cannot believe it,” she said. “Leaving all she might do here, when every day I see more and more how valuable her strong brain and clear judgment would be. For papa, though not worse, is not better, Celia. He is so quickly exhausted. I do my best, but I am not the clever one of the family. I can’t understand it. Going out to seek for work when it is at her very feet, crying to be done.”
“It is not work Winifred wants; it is a career,” said Celia, laconically.
“But she has no special gift—no—no ‘vocation’ to anything in particular,” said Louise.
“She thinks it is her vocation to show that women should be as free as men,” said Celia. “She is full of organised benevolent work just now, and she wants to prove that women can do it as well as—no, far better than men. But I have tacitly promised her to let her tell all particulars herself, so I had better not say any more.”
“Only one thing—this Miss—Miss something Norreys, that Winifred has mentioned so enthusiastically in her letters—has she influenced her?” asked Louise.