“Oh, yes, you have equal rights of guardianship, of course. I had no intention of implying anything else.”
“Equal!” Her voice held unbounded scorn.
“Quite equal.”
She swung round and faced him, her hands on her hips in an attitude that had been frequently characteristic of her mother, her head a little thrust forward.
“What utter nonsense you talk, Ford! You may call yourself Cecil’s guardian till the cows come home, but a child belongs to its mother, I’d have you know.”
“Ladies know so little about the English law,” Ford murmured. “Are you really not aware, Rose, that in law a child has only one parent—its father? If Jim were alive, he would have, strictly speaking, the right to take Cecil away from you altogether, if he pleased. I’m not for an instant suggesting that he would have thought of such a thing—naturally—but I see you altogether fail to realize your position. It has been ruled, very wisely, I think, that the father of a child can appoint a guardian to act with the surviving parent, after his own death. Now a mother has no such power. She can only appoint a guardian after the death of both herself and the father. So you see that your ownership of Cecil is very limited.”
Rose had turned white.
“If that’s the law of the land, it’s enough to make one sick. But I don’t believe it.”
She did believe it, however. Ford was invariably accurate, and his manner had carried conviction with it.
“Then I strongly advise you to inform yourself on the matter. It has really seemed quite necessary for me to mention these facts that you find so unpleasant, owing to your very persistently hostile attitude to me, Rose. You appear to imagine that my attempts at directing matters in which Cecil is concerned, rank as interference pure and simple. So it seems to me better that I should state my case frankly, and make you understand that I have quite a substantial claim behind me.”