so high. Oh, I used to have the most ridiculous
ideas about them. You’d scream, Keggo.
And I’ve always had the same attitude towards
them—towards them as contrasted with women,
I mean. First awe, then envy, then, since I’ve
been growing up here, just as having a desirable position
in life, as having the desirable position in life,
independence, a career, work, freedom, a goal—yes,
and a goal that’s always and always a little
bit in front of you, always something better.
That’s the thing. That’s the thing,
Keggo. Just look at the other side. Take
a case in point. Take my painful cousin, Laetitia,
sweet but in lots of ways very painful. What’s
her goal? A good match! A good match!
Did you ever hear anything so futile and sickening?
Sickening in itself, but I’ll tell you what’s
really sickening about it—why, that she’ll
get it—get her goal and then it’s
done, over, finished, won. Settle down then and
get fat. Oh, I don’t want a goal I can
win. I want a goal I can’t win. One
that’s always just in front.”
She suddenly realised the intensity of her voice and
laughed and shook her head sideways and back.
She had just recently put her hair up and it still
felt funny and tight and the laugh and the shake eased
away the tightness of voice and of hair. She said
thoughtfully, “You know, I believe I’m
rather like a man in many ways, in points of view.
It’s through always thinking them better, I daresay.
The ideas I’ve had about them!” and she
laughed again. She said slowly, “Though
mind you, Keggo, they are better in many ways.
They can get away from things. They don’t
stick about on one thing. And they’re violent,
not fussing. When they’re angry they bawl
and hit and it’s over and they forget it.
They don’t just nag on and on. Oh, yes,
they’re better.”
She extended her palms to the oil flame, and watching
the X-ray-like effects of the light and shadow upon
her fingers, she added indifferently, as one idly
letting drop a remark requiring no comment, negligently
with the voice of one saying “Tomorrow is Tuesday,”
or “It’s mutton today,”—“Of
course they’re beasts,” she added.
“Of course they’re beasts.”
It was the adjusted image to which she had brought
that other perception of men which, running parallel
with the perception of their superior position, had
permeated her childhood years.
CHAPTER IV
She’s left the school! She’s living
in the splendid house in Pilchester Square looking
for a post!
She’s found a post! She’s private
secretary to Mr. Simcox!
She’s left the splendid house in Pilchester
Square! She’s living an independent life!
She’s going to Mr. Simcox’s office, her
office, every day, just like a man! She’s
living on her own salary in a boarding house in Bayswater!
