“O yes, because it will save me trouble. Well, all I wanted to say was, that I wish to keep a horse.”
“To keep a horse!”
“Certainly; what harm can there be in that? I long to ride about at my own will; go to the meets in the forest; even to follow the hounds. I am my own mistress, and I choose to do it,” said Christal in rather a high tone.
“You cannot, indeed, my dear,” answered Olive mildly. “Think of all the expenses it would entail—expenses far beyond your income.”
“I myself am the best judge of that.”
“Not quite. Because, Christal, you are still very young, and have little knowledge of the world. Besides, to tell you the plain truth—must I?”
“Certainly; of all things I hate deceit and concealment.” Here Christal stopped, blushed a little; and half-turning aside, hid further in her bosom a little ornament which occasionally peeped out—a silver cross and beads. Then she said in a somewhat less angry tone, “You are right; tell me all your mind.”
“I think, then, that though your income is sufficient to give you independence, it cannot provide you with luxuries. Also,” she continued, speaking very gently, “it seems to me scarcely right, that a young girl like you, without father or brother, should go riding and hunting in the way you purpose.”
“That still is my own affair—no one has a right to control me.” Olive was silent. “Do you mean to say you have? Because you are in some sort my guardian, are you to thwart me in this manner? I will not endure it.”
And there rose in her the same fierce spirit which had startled Olive on the first night of the girl's arrival at Woodford Cottage, and which, something to her surprise, had lain dormant ever since, covered over with the light-hearted trifling which formed Christal's outward character. “What am I to do?” thought Olive, much troubled. “How am I to wrestle with this girl? But I will do it—if only for Meliora's sake. Christal,” she said affectionately, “we have never talked together seriously for a long time; not since the first night we met.”