“And you cannot change your ind as to my suggestion?” he asked sending off one parting arrow.
“I can not,” said Erica, firmly, “he is my father.”
“You must of course make your own choice,” he said with a sigh. “But you are sadly wrong, sadly wrong! In my opinion your father is—”
“Forgive me for interrupting you,” said Erica, “but by your own showing you have no right to have any opinion whatever about my father. Until you have either learned to know him personally, heard him speak, or fairly and carefully studied his writings, you have no grounds to form an opinion upon.”
“But the current opinion is—”
“The current opinion is no more an opinion than yours! It is the view of most bitter opponents. And, candidly, WOULD you accept the current opinion held of any prominent statesman by his adversaries? Why, the best men living are represented as fiends in human shape by their enemies! And if this is so in political matters, how much more in such a case as my father's!”
Mr. Fane-Smith, who was a well-meaning though narrow man, sighed again; it was always very painful to him to listen to views which did not coincide with his own.
“Well,” he said at length, “there is, after all, the hope that you may convert him.”
“I hope you do not want me to turn into one of those hateful little prigs, who go about lamenting over their unregenerate parents,” said Erica, naughtily. Then, softening down, she added, “I think I know what you mean perhaps I was wrong to speak like that, only somehow, knowing what my father is, it does grate so to put it in that way. But don't think I would not give my life for him to come to the light here and now for I would! I would!”
She clasped her hands tightly together, and turned quickly away.