CHAPTER XIV.
THE OLD YOUNG WOMAN AND THE NEW.
"Providence has granted what I dared not hope for," wrote Cecilia to thePresident.
"If she had hoped for it, Providence would not have granted it,"interpolated the Honorary Trier.
"This is hardly the moment for jesting," said Lillie, with marked pique.
"Pardon me. The moment for jesting is surely when you have received ablow. In a happy crisis jesting is a waste of good jokes. The retiringcandidate does not state _what_ Providence has granted, does she?"
"No," said Lillie savagely. "She was extremely reticent about herhistory--reticent almost to the point of indiscretion. But I daresayit's a husband."
"Ah, then it can hardly be Providence that has granted it," saidSilverdale.
"Providence is not always kindly," said Lillie laughing. The gibe atBenedicts restored her good-humor and when the millionaire strolled intothe Club she did not immediately expel him.
"Well, Lillie," he said, "when are you going to give the _soiree_ tocelebrate the foundation of the Club? I am staying in town expressly forit."
"As soon as possible, father. I am only waiting for some more members."
"Why, have you any difficulty about getting enough? I seem always to bemeeting young ladies on the staircases."
"We are so exclusive."
"So it seems. You exclude even me," grumbled the millionaire. "I can'tmake out why you are so hard to please. A more desirable lot of youngladies I never wish to see. I should never have believed it possiblethat such a number of pretty girls would be anxious to remain singlemerely for the sake of a principle."
"You see!" said Lillie eagerly, "we shall be a standing proof to men ofhow little they have understood our sex."
"Men do not need any proof of that," remarked Lord Silverdale dryly.
This time it was Lillie whom Turple the magnificent prevented frommaking the retort which was not on the tip of her tongue.
"A gentleman who gives his name as a lady is waiting in the ante-room,"he announced.
They all stared hard at Turple the magnificent, almost tempted tobelieve he was joking and that the end of the world was at hand.
But the countenance of Turple the magnificent was as stolid andexpressionless as a Bath bun. He might have been beaming behind hisface, possibly even the Old Maids' Club tickled him vastly, so that hismental midriff was agitated convulsively; but this could not be known byoutsiders.
Lillie took the card he tendered her and read aloud: "Nelly Nimrod."
"Nelly Nimrod!" cried the Honorary Trier. "Why, that's the famous girlwho travelled from Charing Cross to China-Tartary on an elephant andwrote a book about it under the pen-name of Wee Winnie."
"Shall I show him in?" interposed Turple the magnificent.
"Certainly," said Lillie eagerly. "Father, you must go."
"Oh, no! Not if it's only a gentleman."
"It may be only no lady," murmured Silverdale. Lillie caught the wordsand turned upon him the dusky splendors of her fulminant eyes.
"_Et tu, Brute!_" she said. "Do you too hold that false theory thatwomanliness consists in childishness?"
"No, nor that other false theory that it consists in manliness,"retorted the Honorary Trier.
The entry of Nelly Nimrod put an end to the dispute. In the excitementof the moment no one noticed that the millionaire was still leaningagainst an epigram.
"Good-morning, Miss Dulcimer. I am charmed to make your acquaintance,"said Wee Winnie, gripping the President's soft hand with painfulcordiality. She was elegantly attired in a white double-breastedwaistcoat, a zouave jacket, a check-tweed skirt, gaiters, a three inchcollar, a tricorner hat, a pair of tanned gloves and an eyeglass. In herhand she carried an ebony stick. Her hair was parted at the side. Nellywas nothing if not original, so that when the spectator looked down forthe divided skirt he was astonished not to find it. Wee Winnie in factconsidered it ungraceful and _Divide et Impera_ a contradiction interms. She was a tall girl, and looked handsome even under the mostmasculine conditions.
"I am happy to make yours," returned the President. "Is it to join theOld Maids' Club that you have called?"
"It is. Wherever there is a crusade you will always find me in the van.I don't precisely know your objects yet, but any woman who strikes outanything new commands my warmest sympathies."
"Be seated, Miss Nimrod. Allow me to introduce Lord Silverdale--an oldfriend of mine."
"And of mine," replied Nelly, bowing with a sweet smile.
"Indeed!" cried Lillie flushing.
"In the spirit, only in the spirit," said Nelly. "His lordship's 'Poemsof Passion' formed my sole reading in the deserts of China-Tartary."
"In the letter, you should say then," said the peer. "By the way, youare confusing me with a minor poet, Silverplume, and his book is notcalled Poems of Passion but Poems of Compassion."
"Ah well, there isn't much difference," said Nelly.
"No, according to the proverb Compassion _is_ akin to Passion," admittedSilverdale.
"Well, Miss Nimrod," put in Lillie, "our object is easily defined. Weare an association of young and beautiful girls devoted to celibacy inorder to modify the meaning of the term 'Old Maid.'"
Nelly Nimrod started up enthusiastically.
"Bravo, old girl!" she cried, slapping the President on the back. "Putme down for a flag. I catch the conception of the campaign. It ismagnificent."
"But it is not war," said Lillie. "Our methods are peaceful,unaggressive. Our platform is merely metaphorical. Our lesson is theself-sufficiency of spinsterhood. We preach it by existing."
"Not exist by preaching it," added Silverdale. "This is not one of thecliques of the shrieking sisterhood?"
"What do you mean by the term shrieking sisterhood," said Nelly. "I useit to denote the mice-fearing classes."
"Hear, hear," said Lillie. "It is true, Miss Nimrod, that our membersare required not to exhibit in public, but only because that is a partof the old unhappy signification of 'Old Maid.'"
"I quite understand. You would not call a book a public exhibition ofoneself, I suppose."
"Certainly not--if it is an autobiography," said Silverdale.
"That's all right then. My book _is_ autobiographical."
"I knew a celebrity once," said Silverdale, "a dreadfully shy person.All his life he lived retired from the world, and even after his deathhe concealed himself behind an autobiography."
Lillie frowned at these ironical insinuations, though Miss Nimrodappeared impervious to them.
"I have not concealed myself," she said simply. "All I thought and didis written in my book."
"I liked that part about the fleas," murmured the millionaire.
"What's that? Didn't catch that," said Nelly, looking round in thedirection of the voice.
"Good gracious, father, haven't you gone?" cried Lillie, no lessstartled. "It's too bad. You are spoiling one of my best epigrams.Couldn't you lean against something else?"
Before the millionaire could be got rid of, Turple the magnificentreappeared.
"A lady who gives the name of a gentleman," he said.
The assemblage pricked up its ears.
"What name?" asked Lillie.
"Miss Jack, she said."
"That's her surname," said Lillie, in a disappointed tone.
Turple the magnificent stood reproved a moment, then he went out tofetch the lady. The gathering was already so large that Lillie thoughtthere was nothing to be gained by keeping her waiting.
Miss Jack proved to be an extremely eligible candidate so far asappearances went. She bowed stiffly on being introduced to Miss Nimrod.
"May I ask if that is to be the uniform of the Old Maids' Club?" sheinquired of the President. "Because if so I am afraid I have made amistaken journey. It is as a protest against unconventional females thatI designed to join you."
"_Is that the uniform of the Old Maids' Club?_"]
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"Is it to me you are referring as an unconventional female?" asked MissNimrod, bridling up.
"Certainly," replied Miss Jack, with exquisite politeness. "I lay stressupon your sex, merely because it is not obvious."
"Well, I _am_ an unconventional female, and I glory in it," said NellyNimrod, seating herself astride the sofa. "I did not expect to hear theprovincial suburban note struck within these walls. I claim the right ofevery woman to lead her own life in her own toilettes."
"And a pretty life you have led!"
"I have, indeed!" cried Miss Nimrod, goaded almost to oratory by MissJack's taunts. "Not the ugly, unlovely life of the average woman. I haveexhausted all the sensations which are the common guerdon of youth andhealth and high spirits, and which have for the most part been selfishlymonopolized by man. The splendid audacity of youth has burnt in my veinsand fired me to burst my swaddling clothes and strike for theemancipation of my sex. I have not merely played cricket in a whiteshirt and lawn tennis in a blue serge skirt, I have not only skated inlow-heeled boots and fenced in corduroy knickerbockers, but I havesailed the seas in an oil-skin jacket and a sou'-wester and swum them innothing and walked beneath them in the diver's mail. I have waded aftersalmon in long boots and caught trout in tweed knickerbockers and spats.Nay, more! I have proclaimed the dignity of womanhood upon the moors,and have shot grouse in brown leather gaiters and a sweet Norfolk jacketwith half-inch tucks. But this is not the climax, I have----"
_Wee Winnie on her Travels._]
"Yes, I know. You are Wee Winnie. You travelled alone from Charing Crossto China-Tartary. I have not read your book, but I have heard of it."
"And what have you heard of it?"
"That it is in bad taste."
"Your remark is in worse," interposed Lillie severely.
"Ladies, ladies!" murmured Silverdale. "This is the first time we havehad two of them in the room together," he thought. "I suppose when thething is once started we shall change the name to the Kilkenny Cats'Club."
"In bad taste, is it?" said Miss Nimrod, promptly whipping a book out ofher skirt pocket. "Well, here is the book. If you can find one passagein bad taste I'll--I'll delete it in the next edition. There!"
She pushed the book into the hands of Miss Jack, who took it ratherreluctantly.
"What's this?" asked Miss Jack, pointing to a weird illustration.
"That's a picture of me on my elephant, sketched by myself. Do you meanto say there's any bad taste about that?"
"Oh, no; I merely asked for information. I didn't know what animal itwas."
"You astonish me," said the artist. "Have you never been to a circus?Yes, this is Mumbo Jumbo himself."
"Surely, Miss Jack," said Lord Silverdale gravely. "You must have heard,if you have not read, how Miss Nimrod chartered an elephant, packed upher Kodak and a few bonnet-boxes and rode him on the curb throughCentral Asia. But may I ask, Miss Nimrod, why you did not enrich thebook with more sketches? There is only this one. All the rest areKodaks."
"Well, you see, Lord Silverdale, it's simpler to photograph."
"Perhaps, but your readers miss the artistic quality that pervades thissketch. I am glad you made an exception in its favor."
"Oh, only because one can't Kodak oneself. Everything else I caught as Iflew past."
"Did you catch any Tartars?"
"Hundreds. I destroyed most of them."
"By the way, you did not come across Mr. Fladpick in Tartary?"
"The English Shakespeare? Oh, yes! I lunched with him. He is charm----"
"Ah, here are the fleas!" interrupted Miss Jack.
The millionaire started as if he had been stung.
"I won't have them taken apart from the context, I warn you. Thatwouldn't be fair," said Miss Nimrod.
"Very well, I will read the whole passage," said Miss Jack.
"'Mumbo Jumbo bucked violently (_see illustration_) but I settled myselftightly on the saddle and gave myself up to meditations on the vanity ofLife-guardsmen. Mumbo Jumbo seemed, however, determined to have hisfling, and bounded about with the agility of an india-rubber ball. Atlast his convulsions became so terrific that I grew quite nervous aboutmy fragile bonnet-boxes. They might easily dash one another to bits. Idetermined to have leather hat-boxes the next time I travelled inuntrodden paths. "Steady, my beauty, steady!" I cried. Recognizing myfamiliar accents, my pet easied a little. To pacify him entirely Iwhistled 'Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee,' to him, but his contortionsrecommenced and became quite grotesque. First he lifted one paw high inthe air, then he twirled his trunk round the corner, then the first pawcame down with a thud that shook the desert, while the other three pawsflew up towards the sky. It suddenly occurred to me that he was dancingto the air of 'Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee,' and I laughed so loud and long,that any stray Mahatma who happened to be smoking at the door of hiscave in the cool of the evening must have thought me mad. But while Iwas laughing, Mumbo Jumbo continued to stand upon his tail, so that Isaw it could not be 'Ba, ba, ba, boodle-dee' he was suffering from. Iwondered whether perhaps he could be teething--or should I say, tusking?I do not know whether elephants get a second set, or whether they cuttheir wisdom tusks, but, as they are so sagacious, I suppose they do.Suddenly the consciousness of what was really the matter with himflashed sharply upon my brain. I looked down upon my hand, and there,poised lightly yet firmly, like a butterfly on a lily, was a giant flea.Instantly, without uttering a single cry or reeling in my saddle, Igrasped the situation; and coolly seizing the noxious insect with myother hand, I choked the life out of him, while Mumbo Jumbo canteredalong in restored calm. The sensitive beast had evidently been sufferinguntold agonies.'"
"Now, Lord Silverdale," said Miss Nimrod, "I appeal to you. Is thereanything in that passage in the least calculated to bring a blush to thecheek of the young person?"
"No, there is not," said his lordship emphatically. "Only I wish you hadcaught that flea with your Kodak."
"Why?" said Miss Nimrod.
"Because I have always longed to see him. A flea that could penetratethe pachydermatous hide of an elephant must have been, indeed, amonster. In England we only see that sort under microscopes. They seemto thrive nowhere else. Yours must have been one that had escaped fromunder the lens. He was magnified three thousand diameters and he neverrecovered from it. You probably took him over in your trunk."
"Oh, no, I'm sure I didn't," protested Miss Nimrod.
"Well, then, Mumbo Jumbo did in his."
"Excuse me," interposed Miss Jack. "We are getting off the point. I didnot say the passage was calculated to raise a blush, I said it was agrave error of taste."
"It is a mere flea-bite," broke in the millionaire, impatiently. "Iliked it when I first read it, and I like it now I hear it again. It isa touch of nature that brings the Tartary traveller home to everyfireside."
"Besides," added Lord Silverdale. "The introduction of the butterfly andthe lily makes it quite poetical."
"Ladies and gentlemen," interposed the President, at last, "we are nothere to discuss entomology or aesthetics. You stated, Miss Jack, that youthought of joining us as a protest against female unconventionally."
"I said unconventional females," persisted Miss Jack.
"Even so, I do not follow you," said Lillie.
"It is extremely simple. I am unable to marry because I have a franknature, not given to feigning or fawning. I cannot bring a husband whathe expects nowadays in a wife."
"What is that?" inquired Lillie curiously.
"A chum," answered Miss Jack. "Formerly a man wanted a wife, now hewants a woman to sympathize with his intellectual interests, to talkwith him intelligently about his business, discuss politics withhim--nay, almost to smoke with him. Tobacco for two is destined to bethe ideal of the immediate future. The girls he favors are those whoflatter him by imitating him. It is women like Wee Winnie who havedepraved his taste. There is nothing the natural man craves less forthan a clever, learned wife. Only he has been talked ove
r into believingthat he needs intellectual companionship, and now he won't be happy tillhe gets it. I have escaped politics and affairs all my life, and I amdetermined not to marry into them."
"What a humiliating confession!" sneered Miss Nimrod. "It is a pity youdon't wear doll's-clothes."
"I claim for every woman the right to live her own life in her owntoilettes," retorted Miss Jack. "The sneers about dolls are threadbare.I have watched these intellectual camaraderies, and I say they are aworse injustice to woman than any you decry."
"That sounds a promising paradox," muttered Lord Silverdale.
"The man expects the woman to talk politics--but he refuses to take areciprocal interest in the woman's sphere of work. He will not talknursery or servants. He will preach economy, but he will not talk it."
"That is true," said Lillie impressed. "What reply would you make tothat, Miss Nimrod?"
"There is no possible reply," said Miss Jack hurriedly. "So much for themock equality which is the cant of the new husbandry. How stands theaccount with the new young womanhood? The young ladies who are clamoringfor equality with men want to eat their cake and to have it too. Theywant to wear masculine hats, yet to keep them on in the presence ofgentlemen; to compete with men in the market-place, yet to take theirseats inside omnibuses on wet days and outside them on sunny; to be'pals' with men in theatres and restaurants and shirk their share of theexpenses. I once knew a girl named Miss Friscoe who cultivated Platonicrelations with young men, but never once did she pay her half of thehansom."
"Pardon me," interrupted Wee Winnie. "My whole life gives the lie toyour superficial sarcasm. In my anxiety to escape these obviousobjurgations I have even, I admit it, gone to the opposite extreme. Ihave made it a point to do unto men as they would have done unto me, ifI had not anticipated them. I always defray the bill at the restaurants,buy the stalls at the box-office and receive the curses of the cabman.If I see a young gentleman to the train, I always get his ticket for himand help him into the carriage. If I convey him to a ball, I bring him abutton-hole, compliment him upon his costume and say soft nothings abouthis moustache, while if I go to a dance alone I stroll in about one inthe morning, survey mankind through my eyeglass, loll a few minutes inthe doorway, then go downstairs to interview the supper, and havingsated myself with chicken, champagne and trifle return to my club."
"To your club!" exclaimed the millionaire.
"Yes--do you think the Old Maids' is the only one in London? Mine is theLady Travellers'--do you know it, Miss Dulcimer?"
"No--o," said Lillie shamefacedly. "I only know the Writers'."
"Why, are you a member of that? I'm a member, too. It's getting a greatclub now, what with Ellaline Rand (Andrew Dibdin, you know) and FrankMaddox and Lillie Dulcimer. I wonder we haven't met there."
"I'm so taken up with my own club," explained Lillie.
"Naturally. But you must come and dine with me some evening at the LadyTravellers'--snug little club--much cosier than the Junior Widows', andthey give you a better bottle of wine, and then the decorations are sosweetly pretty. The only advantage the Junior Widows' has over the LadyTravellers' is the lovely smoking-room lined with mirrors, which makesit much nicer when you have men to dinner. I always ask them there."
"Why, are you allowed to have men?" asked Miss Jack.
"Certainly--in the dining and smoking rooms. Then of course there arespecial gentlemen's nights. We get down a lot of music-hall talent justto let them have a peep into Bohemia."
"But how can you be a member of the Junior Widows'?" asked themillionaire.
"Oh, I'm not an original member. But when they were in want of fundsthey let a lot of married women and girls in, without asking questions."
"I suppose, though, they all look forward to becoming widows in time,"observed Silverdale cheerfully.
"Oh no," replied Miss Nimrod emphatically. "I don't say that if theyhadn't let me in, the lovely smoking-room lined with mirrors mightn'thave tempted me to marry so as to qualify myself. But as it is, thankHeaven, I'm an Old Maid for life. Why should I give up my freedom andthe comforts of my club and saddle myself with a husband who would wantto monopolize my society and who would be jealous of my bachelor friendsand want me to cut them, who would hanker to read my letters, who wouldwatch my comings and goings, and open my parcels of cosmetics markedconfectionery? Doubtless in the bad old times which Miss Jack has theinaptitude to regret, marriage was the key to comparative freedom, butin these days when woman has at last emancipated herself from thethraldom of mothers, it would be the height of folly to replace them byhusbands. Will you tell me, Miss Jack, what marriage has to offer to awoman like me?"
"Nothing," replied Miss Jack.
"Aha! You admit it!" cried Miss Nimrod triumphantly. "Why should Iembrace a profession to which I feel no call? Marriage has practicallynothing to offer any independent woman except a trousseau, weddingpresents, and the jealousy of her female friends. But what are theseweighed against the cramping of her individuality? Perhaps even childrencome to fetter her life still more and she has daughters who grow up tobe younger than herself. No, the future lies with the Old Maid; thewoman who will retain her youth and her individuality till death; whodies, but does not surrender. The ebbing tide is with you, Miss Jack;the flowing tide is with us. The Old Maids' Club will be the keystone ofthe arch of the civilization of to-morrow, and Miss Dulcimer's name willgo down to posterity linked with----"
"Lord Silverdale's," said the millionaire.
"Father! What are you saying?" murmured Lillie, abashed before hervisitors.
"I was reminding Miss Nimrod of the part his lordship has played in themovement. It is not fair posterity should give you all the credit."
"I have done nothing for the club--nothing," said the peer modestly.
"And I will do the same," said Miss Jack. "I came here under thedelusion that I was going to associate myself with a protest against thedefeminization of my sex, with a band of noble women who were resolvednever to marry till the good old times were restored and marriagesbecame true marriages once more. But instead of that I find--WeeWinnie."
"You are, indeed, fortunate beyond your deserts," replied that lady."You may even hope to encounter a suitable husband some day."
"I do hope," said Miss Jack frankly. "But I will never marry till I meeta thoroughly conventional man."
"There I have the advantage of you," said Miss Nimrod. "I shall nevermarry till I meet a thoroughly _un_conventional man."
"A thoroughly unconventional man would never want to marry at all," saidLillie.
"Of course not. That is the beauty of the situation. That is the paradoxwhich guarantees my spinsterhood. Well, I've had a charming afternoon,Miss Dulcimer, but I must really run away now. I hate keeping menwaiting, and I have an appointment with a couple of friends at theJunior Widows'. Such fun! While riding in the park before lunch, I metGuy Fledgely out for a constitutional with his father, the baronet. Iasked Guy if he would have a chop with me at the club this evening, andwhat do you think? The baronet coughed and looked at Guy meaningly, andGuy blushed and hemmed and hawed and looked sheepish and at last gave meto understand he never went out to dine with a lady unless accompaniedby his father. So I had to ask the old man, too. Isn't it awful? By theway, Miss Jack, I should be awfully delighted if you would join ourparty!"
"I asked them to have a chop at the club with me."]
"Thank you, Wee Winnie," said Miss Jack, disdainfully.
"But think how thoroughly conventional the baronet is! He won't even lethis son go out without a chaperon."
"That is true," admitted Miss Jack, visibly impressed. "He is about themost conventional man I ever heard of."
"A widower, too," pursued Miss Nimrod, pressing her advantage.
Miss Jack hesitated.
"And he dines seven sharp at the Junior Widows'."
"Ah then, there is no time to lose," said Miss Jack. They went out armin arm.
* * *
* *
"Have you seen Patrick Boyle's poem in the _Playgoers' Review_?" askedLillie, when the club was clear.
"You mean the great dramatic critic's? No, I haven't seen it, but I haveseen extracts and eulogies in every paper."
"I have it here complete," said Lillie. "It is quite interesting to findthere is a heart beneath the critic's waistcoat. Read it aloud. No, youdon't want the banjo!"
Lord Silverdale obeyed. The poem was entitled.
CRITICUS IN STABULIS (?).
Rallying-point of all playgoers earnest, Packed with incongruous types of humanity, Easily pleased, yet of critics the sternest, Crudely ignoring that all things are vanity. Pit, in thee laughter and tears blend in medley-- Would I could sit in thy cozy concavity! No! to the stalls I am drawn, to the deadly Centre of gravity.
Florin, or shilling, or sixpence admission, Often I've paid in my raw juvenility, Purchasing Banbury cakes in addition, Ginger-beer, too, to my highest ability. Villains I hissed like a venomous gander, Virtue I loved next to cheesecakes or chocolate; Now no atrocity raises my dander, No crime can shock o' late.
Then I could dote on a red melodrama, Now I demand but limelight on Philosophy, Learned allusions to Buddha and Brahma, Science and Faith and a touch of Theosophy. Farces I slate, on Burlesque I am scathing, Pantomime shakes for a week my serenity; Nothing restores my composure but bathing Deep in Ibsenity.
Actors were Gods to my boyish devotion, Actresses angels--in tights and low bodices; Drowned is that pretty and puerile notion, Thrown overboard in the first of my Odysseys. Syrens may sing submarine fascinations, Adult Ulysses remain analytical, Flat notes recording, or reedy vibrations, Tranquilly critical.
Here in the stalls we are stiff as if starch, meant Only for shirt-fronts, to faces had mounted up; Dowagers' wills may be read on their parchment, Beautiful busts on your thumbs may be counted up. Girls in the pit are remarkably rosy, Each claspt by lover who passes the paper-bag; Here I can't even, the girls are so prosy, One digit taper bag.
Yet could I sit in the pit of the Surrey, Munching an orange or spooning with 'Arriet; Sadly I fear I should be in no hurry Backward to drive my existence's chariot. "Squeezes" are ill compensated by crushes-- Stalls may be dull, but they're jolly luxurious; Really the way o'er past joys we can gush is Awfully curious!
Life is a chaos of comic confusion, Past things alone take a halo harmonious; So from illusion we wake to illusion, Each as the rest just as true and erroneous. _Fin de siecle_ I am, and so be it! Here's to the problems of sad sociology! This is my weird,--like a man I must dree it, Great is chronology!
Even so, once the great drama allured me, Which we all play on the stage universal; "Going behind" the "green" curtain has cured me. All my hope now is 'tis not a _rehearsal_. Still I've played on; to old men's parts I grew from Juvenile lead, as I'd risen from small-boy, So I'll play on till I get my last cue from Death, the old call-boy.
"Hum! Not at all bad," concluded Lord Silverdale. "I wonder who wroteit."
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