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Updated: June 25, 2025
And that propitiation had to be made. It was as inevitable as that the doom of Orestes should follow the original crime of the house of Atreus. Hadria's whole thought and strength were now centred on the effort to bring about that propitiation, in her own person. She prepared the altar and sharpened the knife. In that subtle and ironical fashion, her fate was steadily at work.
"Oh, the mere opposite of an error isn't always truth," said Hadria. "The weather has run to your head!" cried Henriette. Hadria's eyes kindled. "Yes, it is like wine; clear, intoxicating sparkling wine, and its fumes are mounting! Why does civilisation never provide for these moments?" "What would you have? A modified feast of Dionysius?" "Why not?
In spite of Hadria's memorable lecture of a year ago, it was still the orthodox creed of the Society, that Circumstance is the handmaid of the Will; that one can demand of one's days "bread, kingdoms, stars, or sky," and that the Days will obediently produce the objects desired.
Hadria's reels were celebrated, not without reason. Some mad spirit seemed to possess her. It would appear almost as if she had passed into a different phase of character. She lost caution and care and the sense of external events. When the dance was ended, Hubert led her from the hall. She went as if in a dream.
Hadria's eyes sparkled with suppressed excitement. "Freedom alone teaches us to meet generosity, generously," said Professor Fortescue; "you can't get the perpendicular virtues out of any but the really free-born." "Then do you describe women's virtues as horizontal?" enquired Miss Du Prel, half resentfully. "In so far as they follow the prevailing models.
A flame sprang up in Hadria's eyes. There must be other women somewhere at this very moment, whose whole being was burning up with this bitter, this sickening and futile hatred! But how few, how few! How vast was the meek majority, fattening on indignity, proud of their humiliation! Yet how wise they were after all. It hurt so to hate to hate like this.
I can at least fight for it, losing battle though it be." The only person who seemed to resist Hadria's influence to-night, was Mrs. Jordan, the mother of Marion Fenwick. "My dear madam," said Professor Theobald, bending over the portly form of Mrs. Jordan, "a woman's first duty is to be charming."
Hadria's compositions set his teeth on edge. His nature is conventional through and through. He fears adverse comment more than any earthly thing. And yet the individual opinions that compose the general 'talk' that he so dreads, are nothing to him. He despises them heartily. "That is a very common trait. If we feared only the opinions that we respect, our fear would cover but a small area."
The music was always characteristic, often wild and strange, yet essentially sane. "There is a strong Celtic element in it," said the Professor. "This is a very wonderful gift. I suppose one never does really know one's fellows: her music to-night reveals to me new sides of Hadria's character." "I confess they alarm me," said Algitha.
Walker, whom Hadria had the audacity to consult on questions of education and hygiene, leading her, by dexterous generalship, almost over the same ground that she had traversed herself, inducing the unconscious lady to repeat, with amazing accuracy, Hadria's own reproduction of local views. "Now am I without authority in my ideas?" she asked, after Mrs. Walker had departed.
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