Olivia in India | Page 9

lace dress and
an enormous hat; some broiled in serge coats and skirts; Mrs. Crawley
in a soft green muslin and rose-wreathed hat was a cool and dainty
vision. Well, to return. As Mrs. Crawley shook up her chintz cushions,
she looked across at the Candle--a long look that took in the elaborate
golden hair, the much too smart blouse, the abbreviated skirt showing
the high-heeled slippers, the crowd of callow youths--and then, smiling
slightly to herself, settled down in her chair. I grew hot all over for the
Candle. I don't suppose I need trouble myself. I expect she is used to
having women look at her like that, and doesn't mind. Does she really
like silly boys so much and other women so little, I wonder! There is

generally something rather nasty about a woman who declares she can't
get on with other women and whom other women don't like. Men have
an absurd notion that we can't admire another woman or admit her good
points. It isn't so. We admire a pretty woman just as much as you do.
The only difference is you men think that if a woman has a lovely face
it follows, as the night the day, that she must have a lovely disposition.
We know better that's all.
The poor Candle! I feel so mean and guilty writing about her under her
very eyes, so to speak. She looked at me just now quite kindly. I have a
good mind to tear this up, but after all what does it matter? My silly
little observations won't make any impression on your masculine mind.
Only don't say "Spiteful little cat," because I don't mean to be, really.
This is much the longest letter I ever wrote. You will have to read a
page at a time and then take a long breath and try again.
Mr. Brand has just come up to ask us why a sculptor dies a horrible
death? Do you know?
_S.S. Scotia, Nov. 6_.
No one unendowed with the temper of an angel and the patience of a
Job should attempt the voyage to India. Mrs. Albert Murray has neither
of these qualifications any more than I have, and for two days she
hasn't deigned to address a remark to G. or me, all because of a lost pair
of stockings; a loss which we treated with unseemly levity. However,
the chill haughtiness of our cabin companion is something of a relief in
this terrible heat. For it is hot. I am writing in the cabin, and in spite of
the fact that there are two electric fans buzzing on either side of me, I
am hotter than I can say, and deplorably ill-tempered. Four times this
morning, trying to keep out of Mrs. Albert Murray's way, I have fallen
over that wretched hat-box, still here despite our hints about the
baggage-room, and now in revenge I am sitting on it, though what the
owner would say, if she came in suddenly and found to what base uses
I had put her treasure, I dare not let myself think. G. has a bad headache,
and it is dull for her to be alone, so that is the reason why I am in the
cabin at all. To be honest, it is most unpleasant on deck, rainy with a

damp, hot wind blowing, and the music-room is crowded and stuffy
beyond words, or I might not be unselfish enough to remain with G. I
did go up, and a fat person, whose nurse was ill, gave me her baby to
hold, a poor white-faced, fretful baby, who pulled down all my hair,
and I have had the unpleasant task of doing it up again. If you have
ever stood in a very hot greenhouse with the door shut, and wrestled
with something above your head, you will know what I felt.
We passed Aden yesterday and stopped for a few hours to coal. That
was the limit. The sun beating down on the deck, the absence of the
slightest breeze, coal-dust sifting into everything--ouf! Aden's barren
rocks reminded me rather of the Skye Coolin. I wonder if they are
climbable. I haven't troubled you much, have I, with accounts of the
entertainments on board? but I think I must tell you about a whistling
competition we had the other day. You must know that we had each a
partner, and the women sat at one end of the deck and the men stood at
the other and were told the tune they had to whistle, when they rushed
to us and each whistled his tune to his partner, who had to write the
name on a piece of paper and hand it back, and the man who got back
to the umpire