Part 2

You must remember, Caroline, that you will be in a country where women are in an enormous majority--and the effect of this is that the men, unconsciously and naturally, have a great idea of their own value. It is not their fault, or because they are particularly vain men; it is simply because there are so few of them and so many of us! Therefore, if you want really to enjoy life and count as a coveted quantity, you must rise above the general company of young, unmeaning beings of your sex, so as to make the nice young man you may fancy think of you, not as one of a batch for him to choose from, but as the only desirable creature in all the world for him to strive to obtain. The really interesting thing is to be a personality, not one of the herd. And I would like to see you, Caroline, with your beauty and your position, starting a new fashion in young girls when you come out. For, my dear child, realize one thing,--all the stuff and nonsense which you may have been told about women fitting themselves for a self-sufficing existence, and their “rights” and their assertion of equality, are pitiful makeshifts, of use only if the poor things do not obtain the sole real joy and happiness--to be the loved and honored mate of some nice man. If, by your self-assertion and exaggerated mentality, you have been able to crush out all sex instinct, then you become as the working bee--of a third sex, an anomaly in nature, and a ridiculous excrescence in God’s scheme of human progression. So for heaven’s sake, my sweet Caroline, keep this in view. Train what individuality in yourself you will, but keep your clear perspective so as to be able to see the ultimate goal of happiness.

I think I have been rather generalizing, so now I want to come down to a concrete description of what I think would be a perfect young girl, and you must tell me if you agree with this picture of a female “admirable Crichton”! I think, firstly, she ought to be sensible enough to understand the colossal

importance and value of beauty, and to have learned to take care of her personal appearance, so that in every way she is a pleasure to the eye. She ought to have discovered early what style of garments suits her; she should have practiced until she can do her hair becomingly; and by exercises, and by care in remembering what is ugly and to be avoided, she should have perfected the grace of her body’s movements. All these things having been looked upon, not as vanities, but as the natural polishing of the body God had entrusted her with, as the shrine for her soul.

Her voice should be soft, and her cultivation at least sufficient--should she not be naturally clever--to make her know the topics of the day which are interesting to converse upon; and she should be broad enough not to be prejudiced about any of them.

Unselfishness in her should go as far as not to want always to have her own way, regardless of whom it hurts or discomforts. (One could not expect more than that in these days!)

She ought to have so high a respect for herself that she could never make herself cheap, but she should also have common sense enough to realize that, because it is, numerically, such an unequal fight between the sexes, she must have her weapons of attraction peculiarly well polished. Then, out of the limited circle of possible husbands she will have to choose from, she may hope to attract _the best_--because like clings to like.

As she is my ideal young girl, she will not be stupid enough to set out with the idea of making her own life self-sufficing. Whatever circumstances may force her to do afterward, at least to start with she will know that to be happily married is the natural goal, and that to obtain this good thing she must take care of her equipments and fit them for the post she aspires to.

She must have tact and a highly cultivated sense of humor, so that she may not be a bore with her notions and her egotism. She must not stand against the times, but be so ruled by fine taste that she cannot be drawn into any exaggeration.

Her ambition is to become the inspiration and adored mate of whatever nice man she may marry, because, as she is very highly refined and balanced, she will not be attracted by the weakling or the fool, whom she would inevitably rule while she despised him.

If she finds that somehow she has drifted into union with one of these beings, then it will be time enough for her to assert her supremacy--and the more self-controlled and equilibrated she is, the more successfully will she be able to stand alone if necessity requires her to do so. But, Caroline, remember that the natural goal and the happy and glorious goal of a woman is to strive to be the refining influence, the inspiration and the worshiped joy of a man. When she has to be self-sufficing, then, no matter how great she may become, the happiness is only second-best. So as you have youth and a clear sky, child, I want you to set forth with a desire for this best and greatest happiness.

There are splendid and suitable young men coming on every year, so this should not be an impossible attainment. Do you remember what Tennyson wrote about King Arthur making his knights swear this vow after the others?

To love one maiden only, cleave to her, And worship her by years of noble needs, Until they won her; for indeed I knew Of no more subtle master under heaven Than is the maiden passion for a maid, Not only to keep down the base in man, But teach high thought and amiable words And courtliness, and the desire of fame, And love of truth, and all that makes a man.

Now, even with your limited experience, Caroline, I am sure you will agree with me that there are very few modern maidens who are able to make a young man desire to shine in any of these ways. They do not inspire him with much reverence for themselves, or even much love!

Often the most they can make him feel is that they play a good game of golf, or that they “aren’t bad sorts,” or something of that kind. For you must not forget that whatever the other person thinks and feels about you is what you yourself have given him the presentment of. It

entirely lies with you, therefore, what impression on his heart and brain you wish to create. I do assure you, Caroline, that it is infinitely more agreeable when he thinks you all that is perfect, and is passionately in love, than when he is mildly attracted by your golf and your _camaraderie_, while his unemployed senses, left at liberty to roam, stray to the more cunning young women of the chorus, who have realized that some feminine allurements are not bad things to cultivate. By all means play your golf and your tennis if they give you pleasure, but try and make your partner feel that these things are a means to securing the end he desires: namely, your company and companionship; not that you are the means to his enjoyment of the game. Do not throw away all mystery and appear a loud, jolly schoolboy, because, if you do, naturally the other “boys” will treat you as one of themselves, or as a sister--not as “another fellow’s sister,” to be considered, and whose favors are to be schemed for.

There used to be an idea that girls must be warned about wolves in sheep’s clothing, who wandered in society ready to lead them astray, corrupt their morals, and break their hearts! But, if these fabulous creatures ever existed, they only survive now in a few daring, youngish married men who make it their business to flirt with girls. I need not warn you against these, Caroline, because

I know that you are a proud little lady, and one, therefore, whose instincts would tell you that the attentions of a married man were merely an insult, disguised in whatever form they happened to be. It is only the lowest and cheapest sort of girl who willingly encourages such people, blazoning to the world that her vanity is colossal and her self-respect _nil_. So we need not touch more upon this subject. If a man is not free to marry a girl, his assiduous attentions are an impertinence, to say the least of it.

Owing to the scarcity of men, as I said before, they are inclined to give themselves airs, and numbers of young women do the seeking and the hunting, while the poor youths are scared of being captured, and, when they are secured at all, it is unwillingly. Must not that be a hateful blow to the girl’s pride when she thinks of it!

The legitimate way is to render yourself as utterly desirable as possible, and then fate will bring you the particular needle your kind of magnet draws.

There are all sorts of points about manners which add to a girl’s charm. When you come into a room pay respect to elder people; it will not take up much of your time, and is a gracious tribute of youth to age. And when you go out to dine or lunch do not sit silent if you happen to be bored with the person who is next you; you owe it to your hostess to try to make things as agreeable as possible. And when you stay about in country houses remember this also: You have been asked because the hostess likes you, or you are a credit to her, or she is under some obligation to return some civility from your family. In all three cases you ought to make good by proving you are a most desirable guest. Try to acquire prestige, so that none of the nicest parties are complete without you; then you can choose which you prefer to go to. But prestige is not acquired without tact and perfect manners on all occasions. The tendency of all modern society is toward vulgarity and display, with a ruthless, cynical, brutal worship of wealth, snatching at any means to the end of luxury and pleasure. People accept invitations from those they despise, for no other reason than because they are rich and the entertainment will be well done. It is awfully cheap, is it not, Caroline? and a long way from my basic principle which I explained to you, that one must not in any way degrade oneself. Try to be kind to everyone you come in contact with and make them feel at home, however humble they may be, if they are your guests; be gracious and thoughtful for their comfort and pleasure--you need never be familiar or gushing. Be simple and modest; all pretense is paltry and all boasting is vain; nothing but the truth lasts or gains any respect.

I should like to tell you a little story, Caroline, before I finish this letter, as an instance of really exquisite manners.

A year or two ago I was staying in the North with a very great lady; we were all going in to Edinburgh for the day. My friend was a little short-sighted, and while we stopped at the bookstall before crossing over the viaduct to the departure platform I noticed a rather humble-looking little woman nervously and anxiously trying to bow to my hostess, who did not perceive her. After we had mounted the stairs and crossed the line her daughter told my great lady of this, and how Mrs. Mackenzie, the new doctor’s wife, had looked quite hurt. My friend was so distressed that she made an excuse to return to the bookstall, so that she might casually pass the little woman again and bow and speak, but not to hurt her feelings by making her feel she had done it on purpose. I went with her, and while buying an extra paper she glanced up sweetly at the humble-looking little woman, and said:

“Oh! how do you do, Mrs. Mackenzie? I hope your little children are well, and the Doctor; so glad to see you are quite recovered from the influenza I heard you had,” and then, with a gracious smile, she drew me on, and we had to run back up the stairs to be in time for our train. Such manners as these are the only true and beautiful ones, Caroline, because they spring from a kind and tender heart.

Your affectionate Godmother,

E. G.

III

JANUARY, 1913.

I had meant, my dear Caroline, to write to you upon the interesting subject of marriage in this letter, but before I can commence upon that, I must speak of something else, and you must promise me not to be offended at what I am going to say, since we both desire the same end--your success and welfare. The fact is, your picture, which you tell me was drawn by a friend, has just reached me. You say it is more like you than the only photograph I possess of you, taken when you were fifteen; and it is because of your assuring me of this that I cannot remain silent--for, Caroline child, I must confess it shocks and disconcerts me, and makes me feel that I must be very frank with you, if you are ever going to be able to attain that position which we both hope that you may.

Even if the drawing was perhaps done some months ago, and you have altered your style of hair-dressing since then--still, that you were ever able to have looked like that--you in Paris!--proves that your observation and taste are not yet sufficiently cultivated to make you anything of a success when you come out in May. Thus I must speak plainly and at once.

Now, let us pretend that the little girl I see before me is not you at all, but some abstract person; and let us dissect her bit by bit: her type, her style, her suitability--or want of it--her attitude and the general effect she produces. And then let me suggest the remedies and alterations which can improve her.

Firstly, her type, Caroline, child, is not distinguished. She has a large-eyed, dear little profile, which may be very pretty as a full face, and which, framed in appropriately done hair, could succeed in being picturesque, but in itself, with its little snub features, is insignificant. She has rather a big head, and thick, bushy dark hair--which I grieve to observe she has done in a large bun of sausage curls!--a fashion which was never in vogue really among ladies, and for over two or three years has been relegated to the pates of “roof-garden” waitresses and third-class shop assistants. And further to provoke my ire, although this girl in the picture is drawn in an ordinary morning skirt and boots, she wears a light-colored ribbon in her hair! Caroline, dearest, where could her eyes and observation and sense of the fitness of things have been--with the example of the exquisite Parisiennes in front of her--to be able to perpetrate these incongruities! But there is more to come! Her skirt is a rough, useful serge skirt, and her boots, although the heels are too high, are not a bad shape--but with this she has put on one of those cheap, impossible blouses, cut all in one piece--“kimono,” I believe they are called--with short sleeves and an unmeaning black bow tacked to the cuff! Now, a shirt should be a workmanlike thing, as neat as a man’s, and with long sleeves finished by real shirt-cuffs with links. It can be composed of silk, flannel, or linen, but if it is a shirt--that is, a garment for the morning, and to be worn with a rough serge or tweed winter suit--it should have no meaningless fripperies about it. If you want trimmed-up things, have a regular blouse, and then wear it with an afternoon costume. Short-sleeved blouses should only be indulged in in the summer, and when they are made of the finest material. And even then, if the wearer has what the little girl in this picture seems to have--thick wrists and rather big hands--it is wiser to avoid them altogether!

Now that I have torn her garments and hair-dressing to pieces, Caroline!--I must scold about her attitude. She is doing two of the most ungraceful things: putting her arm akimbo and crossing her legs! You may say every girl does them--which may be true, but that is no proof that they are pretty or desirable habits! To digress a moment--I went to a party the other night, a musical party where the guests were obliged to sit still round the room quietly; and I counted no less than thirteen of the younger women with their legs crossed, which in some cases, on account of these very narrow skirts we are all wearing, caused the sights to be perfectly grotesque. There is something so cheap about exposing one’s ankles, to say nothing of calf, and almost the knee, to any casual observer--don’t you think so?

But now to return to the girl in the picture! We have dissected the details and got to her style, and the effect she produces. Her style, I must frankly say, is common, Caroline, and the effect she produces is unprepossessing, because it is incongruous; and incongruity in all simple, morning, utility clothes is only another word for bad taste. I could write pages and pages about the vagaries of fashion, and how what looks _chic_ one year may be vulgar the next, but we have not time or space for that. There are only these general rules always to be observed: for the morning or the street, the most distinguished-looking woman or girl is she who is garbed the most simply and the most neatly, with tidy hair and every garment plainly showing its purpose and meaning. It is in this that the Americans you can see any morning walking on Fifth Avenue excel. But, alas! English maidens nearly always spoil the picture by some unnecessary auxiliary touch or other.

Now, Caroline, be just, and, looking at the drawing with an unprejudiced eye, you will admit that what I have said, though severe, is true.

With a type like yours you cannot be too particular to be on the side of refinement and good taste, and my first advice is: Brush all that thick bush of hair so that it shines, then part it and take the sides rather farther back, so that they do not touch your eyebrows (I like the tiny curl by the ear which has escaped--leave that!); then twist all those dreadful sausages into the simplest twist, so as to make your head as small as possible--which, apart from being the present fashion, is a pretty balance. _Never_ wear a light ribbon in the day-time, although it often looks very becoming at night.

In choosing an article of dress you must remember the vital matter of its suitability; suitability generally, suitability for the occasions you mean to wear it on, its suitability to yourself and your type. If you cultivate these points and use your eyes and observation to see what is the prettiest note in passing fashion, you can counteract the rather commonplace, though pretty, appearance Nature has endowed you with, and turn it into a quaint, picturesque little individuality.

Never buy things that you do not actually want just because they are cheap. Cheap things nearly always have disadvantages, or they would not be cheap. Have few clothes and good ones. Take care of them, and do not ruthlessly crush and rumple them when you have them on, even though you have a good maid to repair your ravages afterwards. I know you will not have to bother about money, but I say all this because I see by the blouse you are wearing in your picture that you have a leaning toward these rubbishy things. Be extremely particular about your foot-covering, too, Caroline. You look as though you had nice feet. Never buy any of the eccentric fashions that you see in every shop window, and on the feet of every little person trotting in the street. Go to one good bootmaker and let him make a study of your foot, and then have the simplest, neatest, and daintiest things made for you. You see, I am writing to one who has ample money for whatever is required, so I am giving her the best advice, because I fear her own taste is not sound--and she is young enough to learn! If you were a poor girl, Caroline, coming out in society on the narrowest means, I would send you all sorts of hints how to arrange and manage to look sweet and lovely upon a very small sum. It is not that all cheap things are ugly, but, with a faulty taste and a large allowance, it is wiser for our end that you should go only to the best shops. I implore you, Caroline, if the instinct of personal distinction does not come naturally to you, to cultivate it by observation. Every time you go out observe what women look the nicest, and what makes them achieve this effect. Examine your own little face, with its blue eyes and black hair, and try to imagine which of the styles would suit you best and make you look the least ordinary.

You have probably never thought of these things, and have just drifted on with other school-girls until you present the mass of incongruities your friend depicted in the drawing of you. I am extremely grateful that you have sent me this sketch now, when it is not too late, and we have still some months before us to alter matters. And your letter in answer to my first one shows me that you have a charming nature, and will understand this which I now write and take it as it is meant. Exaggeration is one of youth’s faults, and easily corrected and trained.

And now we can begin about marriage. But, as the post is going, I shall not be able to say all that I want to in this letter.

Marriage is the aim and end of all sensible girls, because it is the meaning of life. No single existence can be complete, however full of interests it may be. It is unfinished, and its pleasures at best are but _pis-allers_. You agree with me on this point, so we need not argue. But marriage in this country is for life, unless it is broken by divorce, which, no matter how the law may be simplified, and altered presently, must always remain as a stain upon a woman and a thing to be faced only in the last extremity. So, Caroline dear, when you marry you must

realize that it is for life, and it is therefore a very serious step, and not to be taken lightly. The rushing into unions without sufficient thought is the main cause of much of the modern unhappiness. How can you expect to spend peaceful, blissful years with a man whom you have taken casually just because you liked chaffing with him and dancing with him, or playing golf? Think of the hours you must spend with him when these things will be impossible, and if you have no other tastes in common you will find yourself terribly bored. In one of my books I once wrote this maxim: “It is better to marry the life you like, because after a while the man does not matter!” It was a very cynical sentence, but unfortunately true. It is only in the rarest cases that “after a while” either individual really matters to the other. They have at best become habits; they are friendly and jolly, and if “the life” is what they both like all rubs along smoothly enough. But love--that exquisite essence which turned the world into Paradise--is a thing flown away.

Now, Caroline, I want yours to be one of those rare cases where love endures for a long time, and even when it alters into friendship continues in perfect sympathy.

So, when you feel yourself becoming attracted by a young man, pull yourself together in time and ask yourself, if the affair goes on, would you really like him for a husband?

Think what it would be to be with him always, at the interminable meals, for years and years, through all the tedious duties which must come with responsibility. Ask yourself if his tastes suit yours, if his bent of mind is the same, if you will be likely to agree upon general points of view. And, if you are obliged honestly to answer these questions in the negative, then have the strength of mind to crush whatever attraction is beginning to spring in your heart. Once it goes on to passion, no reason is of any use, so it is only in the beginning that judgment can be employed.

You must remember that like draws like with more or less intensity according to the force of