Flora Poste, having been well
educated then orphaned ‘in her twentieth year’ and left with only £100 a year, is trying to work out what to do with her life.
‘I think it’s degrading of you, Flora,’ cried her friend at breakfast. ‘Do you truly mean that you don’t ever want to work at anything? ‘
Her friend replied after some thought:
‘Well, when I am 53 or so I would like to write a novel as good as Persuasion, but with a modern setting, of course. For the next 30 years or so I shall be collecting material for it. If anyone asks me what I work at, I shall say, ‘Collecting material’. No one can object to that. Besides, so I shall be.’
Mrs Smiling drank some coffee in silent disapproval.
‘If you ask me,’ continued Flora, ‘I think I have much in common with Miss Austen. She liked everything to be tidy and pleasant and comfortable about her, and so do I. You see, Mary’ – and here Flora began to grow earnest and to wave one finger about – ‘unless everything is tidy and pleasant and comfortable all about one, people cannot even begin to enjoy life. I cannot
endure messes.’
