It is not so easy as it might appear to define the Hurlingham Girl
with complete accuracy. To say of her that she is one whose spirits
are higher than her aspirations, would be true but inadequate. For, at
the best, aspirations are etherial things, and those of the Hurlingham
Girl, if they ever existed, have been so recklessly puffed into space
as to vanish almost entirely from view. In any case they afford a very
unsubstantial basis of comparison to the student who seeks to infer
from them her general character. Yet it would be wrong to assume that
she has dispensed with the etherial on account of her devotion to what
is solid. Indeed nothing is more certain about her than the contempt
with which she has been willingly taught to look upon all the
attainments that are usually dignified with this epithet. History and
geography, classics and mathematics, modern languages (her own and
those of foreign nations), all these she candidly despises. Let others
make their nests upon the shady branches of the tree of learning. For
herself she is fain to soar into the empyrean of society, and to gaze
with undazzled eyes into the sun of the smart set. She has of course
had the advantage of teachers of all sorts, but the claims made upon
her time by thoughtless parents have usually been so great as to leave
her at the end of her school-room period with a few brittle fragments
of knowledge, which shift and change in her mind as the bits of glass
might shift in a kaleidoscope from which the looking-glass had been
omitted. It is enough for her if, in place of historical dates, she
knows the fashionable fixtures, whilst Sandown and Kempton, Ascot and
Goodwood, Hurlingham, and the Ranelagh, supply her with a variety
of knowledge infinitely more interesting and "actual" than the dry
details of population, area, climate, and capital towns, which may be
learnt (by others) from primers of geography.
Although it is, from their and her point of view, eminently desirable
that the parents of the Hurlingham Girl should be rich, yet it is by
no means absolutely necessary. It is, however, essential that they
should possess a social position which will ensure to them and to
their daughter an easy entrance into that world which considers
itself, not perhaps better, but certainly good. Her mother has
probably discovered long since that the task of being thwarted by
her daughter is an intolerable addition to her social burdens. She
therefore permits her, with as much resignation as she can command, to
take her own course in all those matters that do not conflict directly
with the maternal plans, and she may even come to take a pride in the
bold and dashing independence by which her daughter seeks to relieve
her of all responsibility, if not of all anxiety.
It is naturally during the London Season that the life of the
Hurlingham Girl is at its fullest and best. On week-day mornings she
is a frequent attendant in the Row, the means of her father being
apparently sufficient to provide her with a sleek and showy Park
hack and an irreproachable groom. Thence she hastens home to rest
and dawdle until the hour arrives for luncheon, to which meal she has
invited the youth who happens to be temporarily dancing attendance
upon her, for it is understood in many houses that luncheon is an open
meal for which no formal invitation from a parent is necessary. In the
afternoon there is always a bazaar, an amateur concert, an exhibition,
a fashionable _matinée_ or a Society tea-party to be visited. For the
evening there are dinners, and theatres, and an endless succession of
dances, at which the flowers, the suppers, and the general decorations
possess as much or as little variety as the conversation of those who
overcrowd the rooms to an accompaniment of dance-music that may once
have been new.
[Illustration]
But of course there are distractions. Now and again Society seeks
relief from its load of care by emigrating _en masse_ for the day to
a race-meeting at Sandown or Kempton. There the Hurlingham Girl is
as much at home as though she were native to the spot, sprung, as it
were, from the very turf itself. The interest she takes or pretends to
take in racing is something astounding. For in truth she knows nothing
about horses, their points, their pedigrees, or their performances.
Yet she chatters about them and their races, their jockeys, their
owners, the weight they carry, their tempers, and the state of the
betting market, with a glib assurance which is apt to put to shame
even those of her male companions who have devoted a lifetime to
the earnest study of these supreme matters. In imitation of these
gentlemen she will assure those who care to listen to her, that she
has had a real bad day, not having managed to get on to a single
winner, and that if it hadn't been for a fluke in backing _Tantivy_,
one, two, three, she would have been reduced to a twopence in the
pound condition of beggary. She will then forget her imaginary losses,
and will listen with amusement and interest while a smooth-faced lad
criticises with as much severity as he can command in the intervals of
his cigarettes the dress, appearance, and general character of a
lady whom she happens to dislike. On the following day she will visit
Hurlingham in order to be looked at as a spectator at a polo match, in
which she has no interest whatever. After this she is entertained at
dinner together with a select party, which includes the young married
lady who is her bosom friend and occasional chaperon, by a middle-aged
dandy of somewhat shady antecedents, but of great wealth and undoubted
position. On Sunday mornings she may not always go to Church, but she
makes up for this neglect by the perfect regularity of her attendance
at Church parade. In the afternoon she will go to Tattersall's to
inspect horses. Ascot could not continue without her, and Goodwood
would crumble into ruins if she were absent. This at least is her
opinion, and thus the months flit by and leave her just as wise
as they found her. For she never reads a book, and illustrates by
constant practice her belief that the fashionable intelligence of the
_Morning Post_ is a sufficient mental pabulum for a grown-up woman.
It is unnecessary to describe further the pursuits and occupations of
the Hurlingham Girl. With regard to her appearance and dress, it must
be admitted that she displays considerable taste. She is always neat,
polished, perfectly groomed--in a word, smart. It may be that it takes
nine tailors to make a man. It is certain that it takes only one to
make a well-dressed woman. Yet she does not always, of course, wear
tailor-made costumes, for on the Sundays that she spends on the
river, her impertinently poised straw hats, her tasteful ribbons,
her sailor's knots, her collars, her manly shirts, and the general
appropriateness of her dress, excite the envy of those who declare
that they would not imitate her for worlds, merely because nature
has made it impossible for them to be like her. Handsome she is
undoubtedly, with the beauty that comes of perfect health undisturbed
by thoughts of the why and the wherefore, or by anticipations of a
troublesome to-morrow. Yet to the casual observer who beholds this
admirably decorated creature, her conversation is disappointing. She
revels in slang. Catch-words and phrases which are not called vulgar
only because the better classes use them, come trippingly, but never
with a pleasant effect from her lips. Nor has she that sense of
reticence which is said to have been the distinguishing mark of
unmarried girlhood at some former period. That she should talk
frivolously on great subjects, if she talks on them at all, is only
to be expected. It would be well if her curiosity and her conversation
left untouched delicate matters, the existence of which she may
suspect but ought certainly to ignore.
After she has thus flaunted her brilliant health and beauty through
several Seasons, she may begin to tire of an existence, which in
spite of its general freedom, is subject to certain restraints. She
therefore decides to emancipate herself by submitting to a husband.
She finds no difficulty, with the assistance of her mother, in
discarding the penniless subaltern who has devoted himself to her, and
whom she has induced to believe that she preferred to the whole world.
Having received an offer from a gentleman of presentable looks and
immense possessions, she promptly accepts it, and gains to her own
surprise a considerable reputation for judgment and discretion. It is
quite possible that after a year or two of giddy married life she may
decline gradually into a British Matron, respected alike on account of
her increasing family, and her substantial appearance.
* * * * *
THE BOY THE FATHER OF THE MAN.--The Chairman of the Infant Insurance
Committee, asked a skilled witness, "Is a man his own child, or
another person's child?" This led to an altercation, and the room had
to be cleared while the question was debated. On the return of the
Public, the query was repeated without a satisfactory result. And yet
the evident answer is, that he is another person's child, except when
he is "a self-made man."
* * * * *