CHAPTER LXI.
A FIN-DE-SIÈCLE COURTSHIP.
It was arranged that the wedding should take place as soon as Ralph and Mona had passed their M.B. examination in the October of the following year; and during the fifteen months that intervened, they resolved to devote themselves with a whole heart to their studies, and if possible to forget that they were lovers.
"It would never do to fail at this juncture," Mona said, when the first week of their engagement came to an end, "and I certainly shall fail if we go on living at this rate. I have a great mind to go to the Colquhouns', and study at the Edinburgh School."
This arrangement was rendered needless, however, by Dudley's election as house-surgeon at St Kunigonde's,—an appointment which left him little time for reading, and less for any kind of recreation.
So they rarely saw each other more than once a week, and on these occasions Mona decreed that they should meet simply as good friends and comrades.
"For you must see, Ralph," she said, "how easy it is to crowd the life and energy of seven days into that one weekly meeting."
"Your will shall be law," he said. "What a spending we shall have some day, after all this saving!"
But I doubt whether any man ever got more pleasure from his courtship than Ralph did. There was a very subtle delight about the pretty pretence that the touch of Mona's hand meant no more than the touch of a friend's; and, in proportion as she gave him little, he valued that little much.
So the winter passed away, and summer came round once more.
Doris's marriage was to take place in August, and, a few weeks before the Sahib came to England to claim her, she went to London to visit Mona, and to order her outfit.
"I am just choosing my own things in my few spare hours," Mona said, the day after her friend's arrival, "so we can go shopping together."
They were sitting at afternoon tea, and Lucy had run in to borrow a book.
"You don't mean to say," Doris said, in great surprise, "that you are having a trousseau? When one is going to India, of course one requires things; but at home—it is a barbarous idea."
"Dear Doris," Mona said, "what do you suppose I am marrying for?"
"Miss Colquhoun does not understand," said Lucy. "A Trousseau is a thing no medical practitioner can be without. See, there it stands in five goodly volumes on the second shelf,—particularly valuable on the subject of epilepsy."
"Lucy, do talk sense," said Mona, laughing.
"I appeal to any unbiassed listener to say whether I am not the only person present who is talking sense. But seriously, Miss Colquhoun, I wish I had a rich and adoring uncle. To have a trousseau like Mona's I would marry the devil!"
She set down her cup and ran away, before either of them could enter a protest.
"Will she ever really be a doctor?" Doris asked doubtfully.
"Oh yes, indeed. Your presence seems to rouse a spirit of mischief within her, but you have no idea how she has developed. She will make a much better doctor than I shall. She would have been on the Register now but for her illness; as it is, she goes in with Ralph and me in October."
"Are you going to get another medal?"
"No, no," Mona said gravely. "I only aim at a pass, and I think I am pretty sure of that. There are fewer pitfalls than there were in the Intermediate for my mighty scientific mind. But we can talk of that another time. I want to hear about some one else now. Does your father really consent to your going to India?"
"Dear old Dad!" said Doris, smiling. "He is coming with us. He has not had a long holiday for years, and everybody goes to India now-a-days. When he comes back, I expect one of my aunts will keep house for him."
"He will miss you sadly; but I am very glad the Fates are smiling so brightly on the dear old Sahib."
Doris's face flushed. "Do you know, Mona," she said, "it is a dream of mine that I may be of some use in India. Knowing you so well, I shall be a sort of link between the cause here and the cause there; and I may be able in a small way to bring the supply into relation with the demand. If only I were going out as a qualified practitioner!"
"Oh, Doris, Doris! don't you see that an enthusiast who has no connection with the movement, and who happens to be the wife of the Deputy-Commissioner, will be able to do far more than an average doctor?"
"Especially when the Deputy-Commissioner is as much of an enthusiast as his wife," Doris answered with a very pretty blush.
"And I think it is worth living for to be able to show that a woman can be an enthusiast and a reformer, and at the same time a help meet for her husband."
Mona watched her friend rather anxiously as she said this, but Doris answered quite simply, "How often I shall long for you to talk to! The Sahib, as you call him, says that most of the women he meets out there have gone off on a wrong line, and want a little judicious backing before one can safely preach advancement to them; but it seems to me that the great majority of women only need to have things put before them in their true light. Don't you think so?"
"I don't know, dear," Mona said thoughtfully. "I am afraid I never try to influence my sex. I live a frightfully irresponsible life. Let me give you another cup of tea?"
"No, thank you. I shall have to drink a cup with my aunt, if I go to pay my respects to her. In fact, I ought to be there now."
She hurried away, and Mona was left alone. She did not rise from her chair, and half an hour later she was roused from a deep reverie by a well-known knock at the door.
"Come in!" she cried. "Oh Ralph, how delightful! Let me make you some fresh tea."
"No, thank you, my queen. It was my day out, and I could not settle to work till I had had a glimpse of you."
"I don't need to confess that I have been doing nothing," she said, holding out her empty hands. "The fact is, I am horribly depressed."
"Having a reaction?"
"I should think I was—a prussian-blue reaction, as Lucy would say."
"Examination fever?"
"Far worse than that. You see, dear, it's a great responsibility to become a registered practitioner, and it's a great responsibility to be married; and the thought of undertaking the two responsibilities at once is simply appalling."
"But we are going away for a good holiday in the first instance; and even when we come back, brilliant as we both are, I don't suppose we shall burst into busy practice all at once."
"I am not afraid of feeling pulses and taking temperatures," said Mona gravely, "nor even of putting your slippers to the fire. The thought that appals me is, that one must hold one's self up and look wise, and have an opinion about everything. No more glorious Bohemian irresponsibility: no more airy—'Bother women's rights!' One must have a hand to show, and show it. Ralph, do sit down!—No, on the other side of the fire—and let us discuss the Franchise."
"With all my heart. Shall we toss for sides?"
"If you like. I went once to a Women's Suffrage conversazione, and—well, I left without signing a petition. But the next day I heard two young women discussing it, chin in air.
"'I am interested in no cause,' said one, 'that excludes the half of humanity.'
"'As long as I live,' said the other, 'I prefer that men should open the door for me when I leave a room, or shut the window when I feel a draught.'
"I said nothing, but I put on my hat and set out to sign the petition."
"And did you do it?"
"Sagely asked! No, I did not. I reflected that I had a student's inherent right to be undecided; but that suit is played out now. Seriously, dear, it seems to me sometimes in my ignorance as if we women had gone half-way across a yawning chasm on a slender bridge. The farther shore, as we see it now, is not all that our fancy pictured; but it still seems on the whole more attractive than the one we have left behind. Que faire? We know that in life there is no going back; nor can we stand on the bridge for ever. I could not even advise, if I were asked. My attitude of mind on the subject would be best represented by one great point of interrogation. Only the future can show how the woman question is going to turn out, and in the meantime the making of the future lies in our own hands. There is a situation for you!"
She had opened the subject half in jest, but now her face wore the expression of intense earnestness, which in Dudley's eyes was one of her greatest charms. It interested him profoundly to watch the workings of her mind, and to see her opinions in the making. Perhaps it interested him the more, because it was the only form of intimacy she allowed.
"You must bear in mind," he said, "that every cause has to go through its hobbledehoy stage. The vocal cords give out dissonant sounds enough, when they are in the act of lengthening out to make broader vibrations; but we would not on that account have men speak all their lives in the shrill treble of boyhood."
"True," said Mona, "true;" and she smiled across at him.
Presently she sighed, and clasped her hands behind her head. "It must be a grand thing to lead a forlorn hope, Ralph," she said. "It must be so easy to say, 'Here I stand,' if one feels indeed that one cannot do otherwise. It would be a terrible thing for the leaders of any movement to lose faith in the middle of the bridge, and, if we cannot strengthen their hands, we are bound at least not to weaken them. A negative office, no doubt, and more liable than any partisanship to persecution; but, fortunately, here as everywhere, there is the duty next to hand. If we try to make the girls over whom we have any influence stronger and sweeter and sounder, we cannot at least be retarding the cause of women."
"Scarcely," said Ralph with a peculiar smile. "So, to return to the point we started from, we are not called upon to show our hand, after all."
Mona laughed. "In other words, don't let us take stock of our conclusions, Ralph," she said, "for that is intellectual death.”