had got there and were determined not to betray any unwontedness.
It was not the timid, eager, delighted, fascinating, graceful
awkwardness of a new young girl; it was not the careless, hearty,
whole-souled enjoyment of an experienced girl; it was not the
natural, indifferent, imperial queening it of an acknowledged
monarch: but something that caught hold of the hem of the
garment of them all. It was they with the sheen damped off.
So it was not imposing. I could pick you up a dozen girls
straight along, right out of the pantries and the butteries,
right up from the washing-tubs and the sewing-machines, who
should be abundantly able to "hoe their row" with them anywhere.
In short, I was extremely disappointed. I expected to see the
high fashion, the very birth and breeding, the cream cheese of
the country, and it was skim-milk. If that is birth, one can
do quite as well without being born at all. Occasionally you
would see a girl with gentle blood in her veins, whether it were
butcher-blood or banker-blood, but she only made the prevailing
plebsiness more striking. Now I maintain that a woman ought to
be very handsome or very clever, or else she ought to go to work
and do something. Beauty is of itself a divine gift and adequate.
"Beauty is its own excuse for being" anywhere. It ought not
to be fenced in or monopolized, any more than a statue or a
mountain. It ought to be free and common, a benediction to all
weary wayfarers. It can never be profaned; for it veils itself
from the unappreciative eye, and shines only upon its worshippers.
So a clever woman, whether she be a painter or a teacher or a
dress-maker,--if she really has an object in life, a career, she
is safe. She is a power. She commands a realm. She owns a
world. She is bringing things to bear. Let her alone. But it
is a very dangerous and a very melancholy thing common women to