Female friendship -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
Hal was perfectly aware he had not found it so difficult before, but
she only said lightly:
“Anything to keep safe from another mishap. I might have to walk home
next time.”
“Or stay at an inn with me!...” with an amused laugh. “What would
Brother Dudley do then?”
“Have brain fever first, I expect, then creeping paralysis, then
sleeping sickness.”
He chuckled with enjoyment, and presently remarked: “I don’t think you
treat Dudley respectfully enough if he is an affectionate elder
brother.”
“Oh, yes I do. I sort of leaven the lump. Without me he’d be just a
clever prig; he couldn’t help it. With me he is only better than most
men; and his lofty ideas don’t get top-heavy, because I keep him in
touch with commonplace humanity.”
“Why is he better than most men? What is the matter with the rest of
us?”
“The rest of you don’t bother to have lofty ideas at all, much less
struggle to live up to them.”
“You are a little sweeping. Do you like men to have lofty ideas, and be
priggish?”
“They don’t necessarily go together. It’s only Dudley who thinks all
the rest of the world ought to be good too.”
“And don’t you agree with him?”
“I look at things from a different standpoint. I admire him
tremendously, and feel his superiority; but it is more natural to me to
take things as I find them and make the best of them as they are.”
“You are evidently a very sensible young lady. You can find a warm spot
in your heart even for a sinner, for instance!”
“I rather like them,” and she gave a low laugh.
“Of course you do, if you’re a true woman.”
“Oh, I’m a true woman right enough. I like a man to have a spice of the
devil in him; and I like playing with fire; and I love getting into
mischief.”
“Capital!... you and I must be friends. I’m beginning to think it was a
lucky mishap for me at all events.”
“I haven’t finished my qualifications yet. You may change your mind. I
like all those sort of things, but at the same time I like the big
things as well. Also I’m told I’m most annoyingly practical, and most
irritatingly capable of taking care of myself, and never getting burnt,
so to speak.”
“Who told you that?”
“I think it was some one at the office.”
“What office?”
She mentioned the name of one of the leading London papers.
“Oh, you’re a working young lady, are you?” He asked the question with
a new note in his voice, though it would have been difficult to tell
just how the information struck him.
Hal gave another laugh.
“A working young lady! How awful! I shall not be friends with you if
you call me anything so dreadful as that.”
“What do you call it?”
“Well, I think I like ‘Breadwinner’ best, as that is what I do it
for—but I don’t mind working woman.”
The stranger looked hard into the darkness a few moments, then he asked
suddenly, sitll with the new note in his voice:
“And I suppose you want the vote?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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