The ‘London’ must have seemed better worth while for many reasons. It might prove a first step to a definite degree. The degree examinations were not opened till ten years later, and might not have followed at all had zeal and courage not been shown by women over the matriculation. Again, the matriculation certificate enabled men to offer themselves as candidates for further examination with a view to certain careers, such as the medical profession. This would hold good for women. For it had the real advantage of being a recognised standard, while a certificate for an examination arranged specially for women would be like ‘foreign coin.’ One cannot too much admire the qualities which bore teacher and pupils up that steep initial step of the London examination; for steep it was. At that time it demanded a certain knowledge of subjects which were generally regarded as the prerogative of men. Hardly any of the girls who hoped to pass in them had, when they began their special preparation six terms before the examination, learned any Latin, chemistry, geometry, algebra, or natural philosophy—this last being a term which embraced some acquaintance with optics, statics, dynamics, and hydrostatics. Little more than the rudiments of these new subjects had to be mastered, for the examination at that time required ‘a collection of minima, a smattering of everything, enforced with Procrustean rigour on Philistine lines.’ Primarily designed for boys with a grammar-school education, the Latin paper included some knowledge of Horace. It is scarcely necessary to say that disappointment as well as hope was woven into the strand of these brave beginnings. Many failed. Some who were not really equal to the work were persuaded to enter. Some who passed, complained that they could not retain knowledge which had been acquired too rapidly and not assimilated. Not avowedly, not ever consciously to herself—her sense of responsibility for the individual was too great for that, and she reckoned the training of value even if there were no success at the end—but in actual fact, the failures were accepted by Dorothea Beale as a necessary complement of victory to be. ‘Let the victors when they come, When the forts of folly fall, Find thy body by the wall!’ All the weakness of the position was known to her. And she showed not only courage and daring, but patience and humility still harder to practise. On one occasion, after a specially difficult Latin paper, which had proved too much for many examinees, she wrote to another head-mistress whose disappointment was as keen as her own:—