Aunt Emma collapsed into an easy-chair. Her face was deadly pale. Her ringers trembled.
“If you go, Una,” she cried, playing nervously with her gloves, “I must go with you too! I must take care of you: I must watch over you!”
I took her quivering hand in mine and stroked it gently. It was a soft and delicate white little hand, all marked inside with curious ragged scars that I’d known and observed ever since I first knew her. I held it in silence for a minute. Somehow I felt our positions were reversed to-day. This interview had suddenly brought out what I know now to be my own natural and inherent character—self-reliant, active, abounding in initiative. For four years I had been as a child in her hands, through mere force of circumstances. My true self came out now and asserted its supremacy.
“No, dear,” I said, soothing her cheek; “I shall go alone. I shall try what I can discover and remember myself without any suggestion or explanation from others. I want to find out how things really stand. I shall set to work on my own account to unravel this mystery.”
“But how can you manage things by yourself?” Aunt Emma exclaimed, wringing her hands despondently. “A girl of your age! without even a maid! and all alone in the world! I shall be afraid to let you go. Dr. Wade won’t allow it.”
I drew myself up very straight, and realised the position.
“Aunt Emma,” I said plainly, in a decided voice, “I’m a full-grown woman, over twenty-one years of age, mistress of my own acts, and no longer a ward of yours. I can do as I like, and neither Dr. Wade nor anybody else can prevent me. He may ADVICE me not to go: he has no power to ORDER me. I’m my father’s heiress, and a person of independent means. I’ve been a cipher too long. From to-day I take my affairs wholly into my own hands. I ‘ll go round at once and see your lawyer, your banker, your agent, your tradesmen, and tell them that henceforth I draw my own rents, I receive my own dividends, I pay my own bills, I keep my own banking account. And to-morrow or the next day I set out for Woodbury.”
The Inspector turned to Aunt Emma with a demonstrative smile.
“There, you see for yourself,” he said, well pleased, “what this interview has done for her!”
But Aunt Emma only drew back, wrung her hands again in impotent despair, and stared at him blankly like a wounded creature.