“Yes, if they feel they have capabilities for higher things. Then she thinks that every woman who has leisure should take up the study of some branch of science, and that, as far as possible, every woman should qualify herself for some trade or profession, choosing for preference those which have been hitherto monopolized by men. To enter the others would only be to intensify the present competition.”
” Quite so. That is glorious!” Her blue eyes were dancing with mischief, and she clapped her hands in her delight. “What else? She thinks that whatever a man can do a woman should be allowed to do also–does she not?”
“She says so.”
“And about dress? The short skirt, and the divided skirt are what she believes in?”
“Yes.”
“We must get in some cloth.”
“Why?”
“We must make ourselves a dress each. A brand-new, enfranchised, emancipated dress, dear. Don’t you see my plan? We shall act up to all Mrs. Westmacott’s views in every respect, and improve them when we can. Then papa will know what it is to live with a woman who claims all her rights. Oh, Clara, it will be splendid.”
Her milder sister sat speechless before so daring a scheme. “But it would be wrong, Ida!” she cried at last.
“Not a bit. It is to save him.”
“I should not dare.”
“Oh, yes, you would. Harold will help. Besides, what other plan have you?”
“I have none.”
“Then you must take mine.”
“Yes. Perhaps you are right. Well, we do it for a good motive.
“You will do it?”
“I do not see any other way.”
“You dear good Clara! Now I will show you what you are to do. We must not begin too suddenly. It might excite suspicion.”
“What would you do, then?”
“To-morrow we must go to Mrs. Westmacott, and sit at her feet and learn all her views.”
“What hypocrites we shall feel!”
“We shall be her newest and most enthusiastic converts. Oh, it will be such fun, Clara! Then we shall make our plans and send for what we want, and begin our new life.”
“I do hope that we shall not have to keep it up long. It seems so cruel to dear papa.
“Cruel! To save him!”
“I wish I was sure that we were doing right. And yet what else can we do? Well, then, Ida, the die is cast, and we will call upon Mrs. Westmacott tomorrow.
A FAMILY PLOT.
Little did poor Doctor Walker imagine as he sat at his breakfast-table next morning that the two sweet girls who sat on either side of him were deep in a conspiracy, and that he, munching innocently at his muffins, was the victim against whom their wiles were planned. Patiently they waited until at last their opening came.
“It is a beautiful day,” he remarked. “It will do for Mrs. Westmacott. She was thinking of having a spin upon the tricycle.”
“Then we must call early. We both intended to see her after breakfast.”
“Oh, indeed!” The Doctor looked pleased.
“You know, pa,” said Ida, “it seems to us that we really have a very great advantage in having Mrs. Westmacott living so near.”
“Why so, dear?”
“Well, because she is so advanced, you know. If we only study her ways we may advance ourselves also.”
“I think I have heard you say, papa,” Clara remarked, “that she is the type of the woman of the future.”
“I am very pleased to hear you speak so sensibly, my dears. I certainly think that she is a woman whom you may very well take as your model. The more intimate you are with her the better pleased I shall be.”
“Then that is settled,” said Clara demurely, and the talk drifted to other matters.
All the morning the two girls sat extracting from Mrs. Westmacott her most extreme view as to the duty of the one sex and the tyranny of the other. Absolute equality, even in details, was her ideal. Enough of the parrot cry of unwomanly and unmaidenly. It had been invented by man to scare woman away when she poached too nearly upon his precious preserves. Every woman should be independent. Every woman should learn a trade. It was their duty to push in where they were least welcome. Then they were martyrs to the cause, and pioneers to their weaker sisters. Why should the wash-tub, the needle, and the housekeeper’s book be eternally theirs? Might they not reach higher, to the consulting-room, to the bench, and even to the pulpit? Mrs. Westmacott sacrificed her tricycle ride in her eagerness over her pet subject, and her two fair disciples drank in every word, and noted every suggestion for future use. That afternoon they went shopping in London, and before evening strange packages began to be handed in at the Doctor’s door. The plot was ripe for execution, and one of the conspirators was merry and jubilant, while the other was very nervous and troubled.