The Daughters of Danaus | Page 4

to the everyday world, and so, in some respects, is a nice
conscience. I think Emerson is shockingly unjust. His beaming
optimism is a worship of success disguised under lofty terms. There is
nothing to prove that thousands have not been swamped by
maladjustment of character to circumstance, and I would even go so far
as to suggest that perhaps the very greatest of all are those whom the
world has never known, because the present conditions are
inharmonious with the very noblest and the very highest qualities."
No sooner was the last word uttered than the garret became the scene of
the stormiest debate that had ever been recorded in the annals of the
Preposterous Society, an institution that had lately celebrated its fifth
anniversary. Hadria, fired by opposition, declared that the success of
great people was due not simply to their greatness, but to some smaller
and commoner quality which brought them in touch with the majority,
and so gave their greatness a chance.
At this, there was such a howl of indignation that Algitha remonstrated.
"We shall be heard, if you don't take care," she warned.
"My dear Algitha, there are a dozen empty rooms between us and the
inhabited part of the house, not to mention the fact that we are a storey
above everyone except the ghosts, so I think you may compose
yourself."
However, the excited voices were hushed a little as the discussion
continued. One of the chief charms of the institution, in the eyes of the
members of the Society, was its secrecy. The family, though united by

ties of warm affection to their parents, did not look for encouragement
from them in this direction. Mr. Fullerton was too exclusively scientific
in his bent of thought, to sympathize with the kind of speculation in
which his children delighted, while their mother looked with mingled
pride and alarm at these outbreaks of individuality on the part of her
daughters, for whom she craved the honours of the social world. In this
out-of-the-way district, society smiled upon conformity, and glared
vindictively at the faintest sign of spontaneous thinking. Cleverness of
execution, as in music, tennis, drawing, was forgiven, even commended;
but originality, though of the mildest sort, created the same agonizing
disturbance in the select circle, as the sight of a crucifix is wont to
produce upon the father of Evil. Yet by some freak of fortune, the
whole family at Dunaghee had shewn obstinate symptoms of
individuality from their childhood, and, what was more distressing, the
worst cases occurred in the girls.
In the debate just recorded, that took place on Algitha's twenty-second
birthday, Ernest had been Hadria's principal opponent, but the others
had also taken the field against her.
"You have the easier cause to champion," she said, when there was a
momentary lull, "for all your evidences can be pointed to and counted;
whereas mine, poor things--pale hypotheses, nameless
peradventures--lie in forgotten churchyards--unthought of, unthanked,
untrumpeted, and all their tragedy is lost in the everlasting silence."
"You will never make people believe in what might have been," said
Algitha.
"I don't expect to." Hadria was standing by the window looking out
over the glimmering fields and the shrouded white hills. "Life is as
white and as unsympathetic as this," she said dreamily. "We just dance
our reel in our garret, and then it is all over; and whether we do the
steps as our fancy would have them, or a little otherwise, because of the
uneven floor, or tired feet, or for lack of chance to learn the
steps--heavens and earth, what does it matter?"
"Hadria!" exclaimed an astonished chorus.

The sentiment was so entirely unlike any that the ardent President of
the Society had ever been known to express before, that brothers and
sisters crowded up to enquire into the cause of the unusual mood.
"Oh, it is only the moonlight that has got into my head," she said,
flinging back the cloudy black hair from her brow.
Algitha's firm, clear voice vibrated through the room.
"But I think it matters very much whether one's task is done well or ill,"
she said, "and nobody has taught me to wish to make solid use of my
life so much as you have, Hadria. What possesses you to-night?"
"I tell you, the moonlight."
"And something else."
"Well, it struck me, as I stood there with my head full of what we have
been discussing, that the conditions of a girl's life of our own class are
pleasant enough, but they are stifling, absolutely stifling; and not all the
Emersons in the world will convince me to the contrary. Emerson never
was a girl!"
There was a laugh.
"No; but he was a great man," said Ernest.
"Then he must have had something of