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Updated: May 11, 2025
But to tell you the truth, I am worried, Rhoda. For some reason or other, my own fault, no doubt, I have lost a friend. It's a hard thing," said Miss Quincey, "to lose a friend." "Oh, I am sure Do you mean Miss Cursiter?" "No, I do not mean Miss Cursiter." "Do you mean me then? Not me?" "You, dear child? Never. To be plain this is in confidence, Rhoda I am speaking of Dr. Cautley." "Dr. Cautley?"
Day after day the teachers left their cards and sympathy; the girls sent flowers with love; there were even messages of inquiry from Miss Cursiter. And not only flowers and sympathy, but more solid testimonials poured in from St. Sidwell's, parcels which by some curious coincidence contained everything that Dr.
So now, while Miss Cursiter stood explaining, ostensibly to the entire staff, the unique advantages of General Culture, it was to Rhoda Vivian as to a supreme audience that she addressed her deeper thought and her finer phrase.
"We must put younger women in her place." Rhoda winced as though Miss Cursiter had struck her. "They will soon grow old. Our profession is a cruel one. It uses up the finest and most perishable parts of a woman's nature. It takes the best years of her life and throws the rest away." "Yet thousands of women are willing to take it up, and leave comfortable homes to do it too."
And now she was five-and-forty; she had always been five-and-forty; that is to say, she had never been young, for to be young you must be happy. And this was so far an advantage, that when middle-age came on her she felt no difference. Inaugural Addresses It was evening, early in the winter term, and Miss Cursiter was giving her usual inaugural address to the staff.
I asked for your opinion." "And when I gave it you told me I was under an influence." "What if I did? And what if it were so?" "What indeed? You would get the benefit of two opinions instead of one." Now if Miss Cursiter were thinking of Dr. Cautley there was some point in what Rhoda said; for in the back of her mind the Head had a curious respect for masculine judgment.
So at least it seemed to Miss Cursiter, the Head. That tall, lean, iron-grey Dignity stood at the cross junction of two corridors, talking to Miss Rhoda Vivian, the new Classical Mistress. And while she talked she watched her girls as a general watches his columns wheeling into action. A dangerous spot that meeting of the corridors.
"Yes," sighed Rhoda, "it's the rush for the open door." "My dear Rhoda, the women's labour market is the same as every other. The best policy is the policy of the open door. Don't you see that the remedy is to open it wider wider!" "And when we've opened all the doors as wide as ever they'll go, what then? Where are we going to?" "I can't tell you." Miss Cursiter looked keenly at her.
Miss Cursiter had an eye for magnificence of effect, and the unseemly impact of Miss Quincey was apt to throw the lines into disorder, demoralising the younger units and ruining the spectacle as a whole. To-day it made the new Classical Mistress smile, and somehow that smile annoyed Miss Cursiter. She, Miss Quincey, was a little dry, brown woman, with a soft pinched mouth, and a dejected nose.
Rhoda's first movement was to capture Miss Quincey's hand as it wildly reconnoitred for a pocket handkerchief among the pillows. "Don't worry about it," she said, "I'll speak to Miss Cursiter." Dr. Cautley, enduring a perfunctory five minutes with Mrs. Moon, could hear Miss Vivian running downstairs and the front door opening and closing upon her.
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