“You wanted to learn. May you never have anything to UNlearn.” “_Ah!_” from Mrs. Milton, very sadly. “It isn’t fair for all of you to argue at me at once,” submitted Jessie, irrelevantly. “A world full of unknown dangers,” resumed the clergyman. “Your proper place was surely the natural surroundings that are part of you. You have been unduly influenced, it is only too apparent, by a class of literature which, with all due respect to distinguished authoress that shall be nameless, I must call the New Woman Literature. In that deleterious ingredient of our book boxes—” “I don’t altogether agree with you there,” said Miss Mergle, throwing her head back and regarding him firmly through her spectacles, and Mr. Widgery coughed. “What _has_ all this to do with me?” asked Jessie, availing herself of the interruption. “The point is,” said Mrs. Milton, on her defence, “that in my books—” “All I want to do,” said Jessie, “is to go about freely by myself. Girls do so in America. Why not here?” “Social conditions are entirely different in America,” said Miss Mergle. “Here we respect Class Distinctions.” “It’s very unfortunate. What I want to know is, why I cannot go away for a holiday if I want to.” “With a strange young man, socially your inferior,” said Widgery, and made her flush by his tone. “Why not?” she said. “With anybody.” “They don’t do that, even in America,” said Miss Mergle. “My dear young lady,” said the clergyman, “the most elementary principles of decorum—A day will come when you will better understand how entirely subservient your ideas are to the very fundamentals of our present civilisation, when you will better understand the harrowing anxiety you have given Mrs. Milton by this inexplicable flight of yours. We can only put things down at present, in charity, to your ignorance—” “You have to consider the general body of opinion, too,” said Widgery. “Precisely,” said Miss Mergle. “There is no such thing as conduct in the absolute.” “If once this most unfortunate business gets about,” said the clergyman, “it will do you infinite harm.” “But _I’ve_ done nothing wrong. Why should I be responsible for other people’s—” “The world has no charity,” said Mrs. Milton. “For a girl,” said Jessie. “No.” “Now do let us stop arguing, my dear young lady, and let us listen to reason. Never mind how or why, this conduct of yours will do you infinite harm, if once it is generally known. And not only that, it will cause infinite pain to those who care for you. But if you will return at once to your home, causing it to be understood that you have been with friends for these last few days—” “Tell lies,” said Jessie. “Certainly not. Most certainly not. But I understand that is how your absence is understood at present, and there is no reason—”