Mrs. Warren’s Profession

destroying all that makes womanhood beautiful! Vivie I don’t object to it on that score in the least. I shall turn it to very good account, I assure you. Praed Pooh! In what way? Vivie I shall set up chambers in the city and work at actuarial calculations and conveyancing. Under cover of that I shall do some law, with one eye on the Stock Exchange all the time. I’ve come down here by myself to read law⁠—not for a holiday, as my mother imagines. I hate holidays. Praed You make my blood run cold. Are you to have no romance, no beauty in your life? Vivie I don’t care for either, I assure you. Praed You can’t mean that. Vivie Oh yes I do. I like working and getting paid for it. When I’m tired of working, I like a comfortable chair, a cigar, a little whisky, and a novel with a good detective story in it. Praed Rising in a frenzy of repudiation. I don’t believe it. I am an artist; and I can’t believe it: I refuse to believe it. It’s only that you haven’t discovered yet what a wonderful world art can open up to you. Vivie Yes, I have. Last May I spent six weeks in London with Honoria Fraser. Mamma thought we were doing a round of sightseeing together; but I was really at Honoria’s chambers in Chancery Lane every day, working away at actuarial calculations for her, and helping her as well as a greenhorn could. In the evenings we smoked and talked, and never dreamt of going out except for exercise. And I never enjoyed myself more in my life. I cleared all my expenses and got initiated into the business without a fee in the bargain. Praed But bless my heart and soul, Miss Warren, do you call that discovering art? Vivie Wait a bit. That wasn’t the beginning. I went up to town on an invitation from some artistic people in Fitzjohn’s Avenu; one of the girls was a Newnham chum. They took me to the National Gallery, to the Opera, and to a concert where the band played all the evening⁠—Beethoven and Wagner and so on. I wouldn’t go through that experience again for anything you could offer me. I held out for civility’s sake until the third day; and then I said, plump out, that I couldn’t stand any more of it, and went off to Chancery Lane. Now you know the sort of perfectly splendid modern young lady I am. How do you think I shall get on with my mother? Praed Startled. Well, I hope⁠—er⁠— Vivie It’s not so much what you hope as what you believe, that I want to know. Praed Well, frankly, I am afraid your mother will be a little disappointed. Not from any shortcoming on your part, you know: I don’t mean that. But you are so different from her ideal. Vivie What is her ideal like? Praed Well, you must have observed, Miss Warren, that people who are dissatisfied with their own bringing-up generally think that the world would be all right if everybody were to be brought up quite differently. Now your mother’s life has been⁠—er⁠—I suppose you know⁠— Vivie I know nothing. Praed is appalled. His consternation grows as she continues. That’s exactly my difficulty. You forget, Mr. Praed, that I hardly know my mother. Since I was a child I have lived in England, at school or at college, or with people paid to take charge of me. I have been boarded out all my life; and my mother has lived in Brussels or Vienna and never let me go to her. I only see her when she visits England for a few days. I don’t complain: it’s been very pleasant; for people have been very good to me; and there has always been plenty of money to make things smooth. But don’t imagine I know anything about my mother. I know far less than you do. Praed Very ill at ease. In that case⁠—He stops, quite at a loss. Then, with a forced attempt at gaiety: But what nonsense we are talking! Of course you and your mother will get on capitally. He rises, and looks abroad at the view. What a charming little place you have here! Vivie Unmoved. If you think you are doing anything but confirming my worst suspicions by changing the subject like that, you must take me for a much greater fool than I hope I am. Praed Your worst suspicions! Oh, pray don’t say that. Now don’t. Vivie Why won’t my mother’s life bear being talked about? Praed Pray think, Miss Vivie. It is natural that I should have a certain delicacy in talking to my old friend’s daughter about her behind her back. You will have plenty of opportunity of talking about it when she comes. Anxiously. I wonder what is keeping her. Vivie No: she won’t talk about it either. Rising. However, I won’t press you. Only, mind this, Mr. Praed, I expect there will be a battle royal when my mother hears of my Chancery Lane project. Praed Ruefully. I’m afraid there will. Vivie I shall win the battle, because I want nothing but my fare to London to start there tomorrow earning my own living by devilling for Honoria. Besides, I have no mysteries to keep up; and it seems she has. I shall use that advantage over her if necessary. Praed Greatly shocked. Oh, no. No, pray. You’d not do such a thing. Vivie Then tell me why not. Praed I really cannot. I appeal to your good feeling. She smiles at his sentimentality. Besides, you may be too bold. Your mother is not to be trifled with when she’s angry. Vivie You can’t frighten me, Mr. Praed. In that month at Chancery Lane I had opportunities of taking the measure of one or two women very like my mother. You may back me to win. But if I hit harder in my ignorance than I need, remember it is you