I really think it is _very unkind_ of you to suggest that I like Dr.
Trevor simply because he is a _man_. I am the last person to imagine
that a woman doctor is necessarily inferior. Quite the contrary. Other
things being equal I much prefer a woman, but if the man happens to be
_right_ and the woman _wrong_, it would be absurd not to admit it. I do
feel that Dr. Trevor’s treatment is doing me good, and I am not the
least little bit prejudiced by the sex question one way or another. I
daresay Tom has been airing his opinions, but that does not impress me
at all. Men never ever get out of their heads that the whole world
centres round their high-mightinesses. I’m not blaming Tom, but _all_
men are self-centred. They can’t help it. Dr. Trevor says that it is a
necessary part of their psychological make-up; they have to be
self-regarding, just as woman have to be other-regarding—on account of
the children and so on. But I do beg you will not take Tom’s
pronouncements for Gospel where I am concerned.
I read such a clever article the other day by Storm Jameson, in which
she said that all women, in the depths of their hearts, resented men.
Now I do think that is so true. It is so maddening, the calm assumption
of superiority that a man puts on when he is talking to a woman. We had
quite a little dispute the other evening—about Einstein, of all people!
Mrs. Harrison started to talk about an interesting account of him in the
Sunday paper, but Mr. Harrison only grunted and went on reading
something tedious about the Government. However, she went on asking him
questions till he simply _had_ to answer, and then he said, quite
snubbingly, that he considered the man was a charlatan who was pulling
people’s legs with his theories. I said I didn’t think all these
professors would believe in him and have him down to lecture and so on
if it was just that. So he said, “Just you ask my old friend, Professor
Alcock, if you won’t believe me.” Mrs. Harrison said she couldn’t ask
Professor Alcock, because she had never seen him, and why didn’t Mr.
Harrison sometimes bring somebody interesting to the house? That seemed
to annoy him, though I thought it was very much to the point, but, being
only a paid subordinate, I said meekly that we were all entitled to our
own opinions. So he smiled sarcastically and said that perhaps _some_ of
us were better qualified to judge than others, and that the Sunday Press
was not always the best guide to knowledge. “But _you_ read the papers,”
said Mrs. Harrison. “When I’m given the chance,” said he.
If I had been in Mrs. Harrison’s place I should have taken warning from
the way he rattled _The Times_, but one cannot expect old heads on young
shoulders—or perhaps mature heads would be fairer to myself. But she is
perhaps a little tactless now and again, poor girl, and said if she
didn’t read the papers how was she to improve her mind? Of course, I
knew exactly what the answer would be—the virtues of the old-fashioned
domestic woman and the perpetual chatter of the modern woman about
things which were outside her province. It is the fatal subject, and
somehow or other it always seems to crop up. Mrs. Harrison was very much
hurt, and said of course she knew she couldn’t possibly come up to the
perfections of Mrs. Harrison No. 1. Then, of course, the fat was in the
fire. It was just like a woman to take it personally. Mrs. Harrison
began to cry, and he said, “Please don’t make a scene,” and went out and
slammed the door.
What I wanted to do was just to go up to Mr. Harrison and say, “Now do
be a little human. Make a fuss of her. Let her cry if she wants to and
then make it up and be friends.” But he isn’t the kind of person you can
very well say things to. He would think it impertinent of me. And it’s
true that it never pays to interfere between husband and wife. But if
only he would listen to me, I know I could put matters right. In my kind
of life one gets plenty of experience—lookers-on see most of the game,
you know—and Mrs. Harrison would be so ready to attach herself to him,
if only he would give her the chance. Often and often I’ve known her
work herself up for hours to make an appeal to his feelings, but he
receives it so coldly. Somehow it never seems to be the right moment. He
is always absorbed in his painting or his natural history or something.
How true it is that men live for Things and women for People! To pin
one’s heart to a Person always means suffering in this world, if one has
an acutely-sensitive nature. You are to be congratulated, Olive, on not
being sensitive. Temperament is a great gift, but a very unhappy one, as
I know so well from my own experience. I really _admire_ Mrs.
Harrison—she never loses hope, but goes on, day after day, trying to be
brave and devoted and to keep up her interest in life. And she has such
a vivid alert mind—she is keen on everything, even on things like
Einstein, which are so very modern and difficult. But I do not see how
one can go on being keen about things with so _very_ little
encouragement.
No, my dear! No men for me! It’s different for you, I know. You have the
children, and I’m sure Tom is attentive in his man’s way—but Mr.
Harrison is such a _stick_. And then, of course, he is a lot older than
she is.
So you see you are quite wrong in your ideas about me. Naturally, I am
interested in the new tenants, because, after all, we share the front
hall and the staircase with them, and it does make a difference whether
people are pleasant neighbours or not, but that is all! By the way, it’s
quite true that one of them is an artist. We saw the men carrying in the
lay-figure this morning—a life-sized one. It came out of the van not
wrapped up at all—a most naked and indecent sight—and was carried up
the path by Carter Paterson’s man, looking like the rape of the Sabines!
You should have seen the heads popping out of the windows all down the
street! Quite an excitement in our calm neighbourhood.
I am just turning the heel of the first stocking, tell Tom, and hope to
get the pair done before you go down to Norfolk. Mr. Perry is the
vicar—I’m sure I have told you about him before. Such a nice man, only
rather High Church, but not at all bigoted. I always enjoy a chat with
him.
I must stop now and get the joint in the oven for dinner. His lordship
is coming in to prepare his special mushroom dish with his own fair
hand!! So you see we have a treat to look forward to!
Ever your loving sister,
AGGIE