Edna continued in this unsatisfactory mood until luncheon. Nothing pleased her. The novels were stupid. She was tired of love tales—why could not people find something else to write about? She was sick of such namby-pamby sentimentality; and then they were so untrue to life. Stories in real life did not always end happily, or there would not be so many old maids in the world.
“Single women, Edna; I like that term ever so much better.”
“No; old maids,” persisted Edna, obstinately; “cross, cranky old maids.”
“Old maids, as you call them (and you are very rude to a lot of good, nice women, Edna), are not necessarily cross and cranky; the unmarried women I know are all busy, cheerful creatures, full of life and energy, and very useful in their generation. Father says he always enjoys a talk with an unmarried lady; so many of them keep their freshness and youth, even though they have wrinkles on their faces. I know some of them get soured and narrow, but perhaps they have had much to try them.”
“Bessie, I do believe you will be an old maid yourself, some day.”
“Your prophecy does not frighten me in the least If I am to be an old maid, I mean to be a very happy one. You know, Edna, how often I have talked to you of my dear Mr. Robertson. Well, he said something on this subject in one of his sermons that pleased me very much. I remember dear Hatty liked it too. I cannot recollect the exact words, but it was to this effect—that much of our happiness depends on the way we look on life; that if we regard it as a complete and finished existence, then no doubt those who fail in their aims are disappointed and discontented. In this the unmarried and childless woman, and the widow who has lost her treasure, will be agreed; but if we regard our present existence as only a prelude to a better—as an education, a training for a high and happier sphere—then the disappointed may take heart, for they have only come to the beginning of their life, and may surely wait with some degree of patience until a future life expands their happiness. Grown-up people do not want their sugar-plums all at once, as children do—don’t you see it, Edna?”
“Oh, yes, I know what you good people mean.” But she spoke with a degree of pettishness. “But I have not climbed as high as you, and I shall be a shriveled, cantankerous old maid.”
“You will be nothing of the kind,” replied Bessie, kissing her. “But luncheon is ready, and here comes your mother; pray, don’t say anything to her about not going to the Pavilion, or she will be so disappointed; she never enjoys anything without you.” And to her great relief Edna acquiesced.
Mrs. Sefton talked a great deal about the bazaar during luncheon. The Tozers and Lady Hampton were going, and she had heard that Minnie Crawford’s costume was perfect, and suited her admirably.
“I suppose I had better go and get ready,” observed Edna, pushing back her chair, “or mamma will never survive the disappointment. The carriage will be here at half-past three.” And she marched out of the room with rather a bored expression on her face.