"And mark you," said Eliza, in quite the best of the Reading Society manner: "it does not suggest that that gratification may be inspired either by our beauty or by our intellect; indeed, it proves that such powers are worthless to inspire it. It postulates the hypothesis"—Eliza is really splendid—"that man is a brute whose appreciation can only be secured by ministering to his desire for food and suitable clothing, and that woman's whole business is to render this creature complacent."
"Don't you think things are much pleasanter when people are complacent?" said my sister easily.
Eliza fixed her with strong, dark eyes. "Were I describing you in a book," she said—one feels as though Eliza will write a book, probably a clever one, some day—"I should describe you as a typical woman, and therefore a pudding. A dear, tepid pudding, with a pink sauce over it. Very sweet, no doubt, but squashy—decidedly squashy. Some day," said Eliza triumphantly, "you will be squashed into mere pulp, and you will not like that."
This did not seem to be a likely end for Palestrina. Eliza continued: "Who will deny that men are selfish?"
"But they are also useful," said Mrs. Fielden in an ingenuous way. "They open doors for one, don't you know, and give one the front row when there is anything to be seen, even when one wears a big hat; and they see one into one's carriage—oh! and lots of other useful little things of that sort."
"Admitted," said Eliza, "that women have certain privileges—have they any Rights?"
Mrs. Fielden admitted that they had not. "But," she said, "I don't really think that that is important. The men whom one knows are always nice to one, and I don't think it matters much what the others are."
"Rank individualism," said Eliza. And she said it without a moment's hesitation, which gave us a very high opinion indeed of her powers of speech. "It is the fashion to say that each woman has only one man to manage, and she must be a very stupid woman if she cannot manage him; but there are thousands of women who, being weaker morally and physically than their particular man, can do nothing with him, and it is not fair to leave their wrongs unredressed because you are comfortable and happy."
"Still, you know," said Mrs. Fielden thoughtfully, "one cannot help wishing that they could get what they want without involving us in the question. You see, if they got their rights we should probably get ours too, and then I'm afraid we should lose our privileges."
"You are like the man," said I, "who could do quite well without the necessaries of life, but he could not do without its luxuries."