There was, of
course, no unanimity of belief running through all these Clubs,
Classes, Circles, Societies, Orders, Leagues, Chapters, and Unions;
but there was one bond of aversion, and that was domestic service of
any kind. That no woman could develop or soar properly, and cook,
scrub, sweep, dust, wash dishes, mend, or take care of babies at the
same time--to defend this proposition they would cheerfully have gone
to the stake. They were willing to concede all these sordid tasks as
an honourable department of woman's work, but each wanted them to be
done by some other woman.
Mrs. Grubb really belonged to neither of these classes. She was not
very keen about more rights, nor very bloodthirsty about her wrongs.
She inhabited a kind of serene twilight, the sort that follows an
especially pink sunset. She was not wholly clear in her mind about
anything, but she was entirely hopeful about the world and its
disposition to grow and move in ever ascending spirals. She hated
housework as much as any of her followers, although she was seldom
allowed to do anything for herself. 'I'll step in and make your
beds, Mrs. Grubb; I know you're tired.' 'I'll sweep the front room,
Mrs. Grubb; you give yourself out so, I know you need rest.
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