“Man that is born of woman hath but a short
time to live and is full of misery....”
She called out—she could not help it—“Father!”
Her mother’s hand, squeezing hers, restrained
her.
The broken voice went on “... cometh up and
is cut down like a flower.”
She heaved relief. No one had noticed it.
It was all right. No one else had heard the terrible
mistake. It was all right. But it was very
wrong. Above all other places this was the place
that should have been changed. Woman... that
is full of misery. How could it ever be Man?
Anna, in almost her last words, had said it. “It
is hard for women” and that God knew it was
hard for them—“O God, thou knowest
how hard it is for women.”
In the next week she went away to school.
What anybody can have nobody wants; but what only
one person can have there’s a queue to get.
This is an elementary principle of the frailty of
human nature, and knowledge of it, and experience
of its mighty truth, used to cause, during the three
holiday periods of the year, a standing advertisement
to appear on the front page of the Morning Post.
“High-class Ladies’ School for the Daughters
of Gentlemen of the Professions has unexpected
vacancy for one only pupil at reduced
terms—Mrs. Impact, Oakwood House School,
St. John’s Wood, London.”
One only pupil! That was the magic
touch.
The very first words addressed to Rosalie by a fellow
boarder at Oakwood House were from a short, sharp-featured
girl of her own age, which then was twelve, who said
to her sharply, “You’re a One Only.
I can see you are. Aren’t you a One Only?”
“Well, I’m by myself,” said Rosalie,
not understanding but most anxious to say the right
thing.
“Stupid, you’re not,” said the sharp
girl, “because I’m with you. Did
your mother see the advertisement in the Morning Post?
The advertisement of this school?”
It happened that Rosalie knew her mother had seen
it for Aunt Belle had shown it to her and to them
all. “One of the very best schools,”
Aunt Belle had said. “You see, it’s
only quite by chance there was a vacancy.”
“Yes, she did,” said Rosalie.
“She’s the cat’s grandmother,”
said the sharp girl. “Never say ‘she’
for a person’s name. Well, if your mother
saw the advertisement then you are a One Only at reduced
terms, and I knew you were directly I saw you.
Now, tell me. Don’t blink—unless
of course you’re an idiot; all idiots blink.
Tell me. Was that dress made for you or was it
cut down?”
“It was my cousin Laetitia’s,” said
Rosalie.
“Of course it was,” returned the sharp
girl very triumphantly. “Every One Only’s
clothes are cut down for her. Poopers! Do
you know what a pooper is? A pooper is half a
poop and half a pauper. Every One Only’s
a pooper. Well, now you know what you are.
You see that girl over there. Do you know what
she is?”
