“Yes. Why not?”
“You know less of Gillian than I thought you did.” The old caustic tone was sharp in her voice.
He looked surprised. “Isn't she happy here?”
“Happy!” Miss Craven laughed oddly. “It's a little word to mean so much. Yes, she is happy—happy as the day is long—but that won't keep her. She loves the Towers, she is adored on the estate, she has a corner in that great heart of hers for all who live here—but still that won't keep her. In her way of thinking she has a debt to pay, and all these months, studying, working, hoping, she has been striving to that end. She is determined to make her own way in the world, to repay what has been expended on her——”
“That's dam' nonsense,” he interrupted hotly.
“It's not nonsense from Gillian's point of view,” Miss Craven answered quickly, “it's just common honesty. We have argued the matter, she and I, scores of times. I have told her repeatedly that in view of your guardianship you stand in loco parentis and, therefore, as long as she is your ward her maintenance and artistic education are merely her just due, that there can be no question of repayment. She does not see it in that light. Personally—though I would not for the world have her know it—I understand and sympathize with her entirely. Her independence, her pride, are out of all proportion to her strength. I cannot condemn, I can only admire—though I take good care to hide my admiration ... and if you could persuade her to let the past rest, there is still the question of her future.”
“That I can provide for.”
Miss Craven shook her head.
“That you can not provide for,” she said gravely.
The flat contradiction stirred him. He jerked upright from his former lounging attitude and stood erect, scowling down at her from his great height. “Why not?” he demanded haughtily.