It was during this visit of Clementina to the fairy bower in Cheyne Walk that Etta informed her of her intention of becoming a hospital nurse.
“Lord have mercy upon us!” cried Clementina.
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” said Etta.
“The idea is preposterous,” replied Clementina. “What need have you to work for your living?”
“I want to do something useful in the world.”
“You’ll do much better by remaining ornamental,” said Clementina. “It’s only when a woman is as ugly as sin and as poor as charity that she need be useful; that’s to say while she’s unmarried. When she’s married she has got as much as she can do to keep her husband and children in order. A girl like you with plenty of money and the devil’s own prettiness has got to stay at home and fulfil her destiny.”
Etta, sitting on the window seat, looked at the Thames, seen in patches of silver through the fresh greenery of the Embankment trees.
“I know what you’re thinking of, dear,” she said, with the indulgent solemnity of the Reverend Mother of a Convent, “but I shall never marry.”
“Rubbish,” said Clementina.
“I’ve made up my mind, quite made up my mind.”