‘Well, it’s quite enough,’ Hypatia assured her. ‘Come along, Bunny. Come and buy the licence.’
Without a word, the young man followed Hypatia out of the room.
The flame of battle was awake now in Sheila’s heart, burning away all lingering reluctance, all doubts and fears. If there was to be a feud, there was no doubt upon which side she would fight. Age had declared war upon Youth, and all the spirit in her woke to the challenge. Edward, her comrade, was being threatened with disinheritance. Sheila knew now that she was irrevocably his: a hint of doubt would have been shameful treason. She forgot the cold formality of his attitude to his mother: she remembered only his strength, his glorious unyielding strength.
‘Look here, mother,’ Edward was saying, ‘you’ll have to readjust your ideas a little.’ He waved aside a hysterical interruption. ‘No, it’s no use indulging in heroics: your storming only makes me tired. Storm in a teacup, that’s all. Listen to me.’
Mrs. Fairfield turned her back on him.
‘Yes, listen like that, if you wish. It’s extraordinarily rude, but never mind. I was saying that you’ve got to readjust your ideas a little. They’re about a hundred years behind the times. We young people, as you call us, have as much right to live as you, and as much right to freedom.’
His mother wheeled round swiftly. ‘Freedom! You’ve had too much freedom!’
‘Please don’t interrupt,’ said Edward. ‘There’s been quite enough shouting and stamping. I want you to reason the thing out calmly. Freedom consists in being left alone, left with room to grow, not in being penned round with affection and told every minute of the day that of course we can do as we like if we don’t love mother and father.’
‘You’re hitting too hard,’ whispered Sheila.
‘You think,’ Edward continued, ‘because you’ve born and bred us and sacrificed yourself for us that Hypatia and I belong to you.’