character and interest, she thought, with books, pictures, china, ornaments, journals, music, a crowded room, personal and supremely unfashionable.
‘Perhaps it is not too late. I should like to embarkupon some course of study. Learning is so important, you have shown me that.’
‘Have you some particular subject that interests you?’
Florence rose and began to pace about the room, tall and dramatic, between tables and chairs, the desk and the piano.
‘Oh, history perhaps … ancient history … the classics and early civilizations. Or then again, science … the new discoveries. Or something verypure – philosophy.’
Thea bent her head and busied herself with the tray.
‘Well, perhaps it is best to be clear.’
‘Yes. Oh yes. I understand that, of course. You have always been so sure, and then simply gone ahead.’
‘Women are not indulged here. Any indecisiveness, any wavering, a suggestion that one is less than fully committed – and oh, it is so gleefully pounced upon. We have to be allthat men are, but doubly so. And yet …’
She stood, ‘Still women. Shall we walk outside a little before it gets quite dark? The rain has cleared now, I think, and you must see the viburnum in the far shrubbery, it is a mass of pink.’
They toured the paths. There was no one at all about.
‘Of course,’ Thea said, glancing sideways, ‘we are a very closed society here. We are so far out, and I daresaywe give off a slightly frumpish air – even conventual. We have very little male society.’
They reached the shrubbery and the bush, its branches starred with the sweet-smelling blossom. Thea sensed that Florence had a need to confide in her. But after a few moments of silence, nothing had been said, so that in the end, she herself asked more about the plans of the Committee for their Home in thecountry.
‘Perhaps we could help in some way here. We are all so very fortunate …’
‘Perhaps.’
‘It must take up a good deal of your time.’
‘Yes.’
‘And energy.’
Florence reached out a hand and touched the blossom.
‘But I think that you are so good and right … and … and brave to do it. It is so very important.’
Thea’s round face shone, fresh and unblemished beneath the neatly plaited hair.She was a short, compact woman.
Abruptly, Florence asked, ‘Is there nothing that you long for, quite passionately? Want ?’
‘Oh, all human beings have aspirations!’
‘Aspirations! I was not talking of anything so elevated. Wants … Desires.’
Florence looked round the garden wildly. It was cold and almost dark and the rain had begun again. In the buildings behind them, she felt the presence ofstudious, purposeful, dedicated young women.
‘This …’ she gestured. ‘I could never aspire to this.’
Nor ever want it, she realised. For the air would surely suffocate her.
‘I must go back. Mother is on her own.’
‘Oh do, please, give her my warmest greetings. I mean to come and see her once the term is over. We lead such full lives.’
They walked slowly to the gate. Shaking hands, Thea heldonto hers for a moment.
‘If there is anything … if I can be of some help? I felt sure there was something you wanted.’
‘Ah.’ Florence drew away her hand, smiled a sudden, dazzling, distant smile. ‘What are mere “wants” beside so many aspirations?’
And felt nothing but relief at leaving them behind, relief and a return of the old sense of superiority towards Thea, as well as – for she had toldthe truth – envy.
But the outing had been for a purpose more considerable than friendship. It had been an exercise in keeping Thomas Cavendish from her mind, and as such, altogether unsuccessful.
Wants, she thought now, in the darkness of the cab. I want.
For she recognised that it was nothing so gentle or so honourable as love. She wanted him, and wanted to succeed in getting him to marryher.
Like Thea Pontifex, his life was complete and satisfying to him, and he had not a
‘Perhaps it is not too late. I should like to embarkupon some course of study. Learning is so important, you have shown me that.’
‘Have you some particular subject that interests you?’
Florence rose and began to pace about the room, tall and dramatic, between tables and chairs, the desk and the piano.
‘Oh, history perhaps … ancient history … the classics and early civilizations. Or then again, science … the new discoveries. Or something verypure – philosophy.’
Thea bent her head and busied herself with the tray.
‘Well, perhaps it is best to be clear.’
‘Yes. Oh yes. I understand that, of course. You have always been so sure, and then simply gone ahead.’
‘Women are not indulged here. Any indecisiveness, any wavering, a suggestion that one is less than fully committed – and oh, it is so gleefully pounced upon. We have to be allthat men are, but doubly so. And yet …’
She stood, ‘Still women. Shall we walk outside a little before it gets quite dark? The rain has cleared now, I think, and you must see the viburnum in the far shrubbery, it is a mass of pink.’
They toured the paths. There was no one at all about.
‘Of course,’ Thea said, glancing sideways, ‘we are a very closed society here. We are so far out, and I daresaywe give off a slightly frumpish air – even conventual. We have very little male society.’
They reached the shrubbery and the bush, its branches starred with the sweet-smelling blossom. Thea sensed that Florence had a need to confide in her. But after a few moments of silence, nothing had been said, so that in the end, she herself asked more about the plans of the Committee for their Home in thecountry.
‘Perhaps we could help in some way here. We are all so very fortunate …’
‘Perhaps.’
‘It must take up a good deal of your time.’
‘Yes.’
‘And energy.’
Florence reached out a hand and touched the blossom.
‘But I think that you are so good and right … and … and brave to do it. It is so very important.’
Thea’s round face shone, fresh and unblemished beneath the neatly plaited hair.She was a short, compact woman.
Abruptly, Florence asked, ‘Is there nothing that you long for, quite passionately? Want ?’
‘Oh, all human beings have aspirations!’
‘Aspirations! I was not talking of anything so elevated. Wants … Desires.’
Florence looked round the garden wildly. It was cold and almost dark and the rain had begun again. In the buildings behind them, she felt the presence ofstudious, purposeful, dedicated young women.
‘This …’ she gestured. ‘I could never aspire to this.’
Nor ever want it, she realised. For the air would surely suffocate her.
‘I must go back. Mother is on her own.’
‘Oh do, please, give her my warmest greetings. I mean to come and see her once the term is over. We lead such full lives.’
They walked slowly to the gate. Shaking hands, Thea heldonto hers for a moment.
‘If there is anything … if I can be of some help? I felt sure there was something you wanted.’
‘Ah.’ Florence drew away her hand, smiled a sudden, dazzling, distant smile. ‘What are mere “wants” beside so many aspirations?’
And felt nothing but relief at leaving them behind, relief and a return of the old sense of superiority towards Thea, as well as – for she had toldthe truth – envy.
But the outing had been for a purpose more considerable than friendship. It had been an exercise in keeping Thomas Cavendish from her mind, and as such, altogether unsuccessful.
Wants, she thought now, in the darkness of the cab. I want.
For she recognised that it was nothing so gentle or so honourable as love. She wanted him, and wanted to succeed in getting him to marryher.
Like Thea Pontifex, his life was complete and satisfying to him, and he had not a
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