The practical novelist positively trembled with delight.
'I like you, young man,' he cried; 'and I believe you will improve. I think you will be unconsciously my best collaborateur. Both your character and Muriel's will be tested, illuminated, and strengthened for good or evil, in the course of this work, and that immediately. Who would write who has once tasted the pleasures of this new fiction! This is a foreign language to you. Some day I may teach you its whole secret. In the meantime regard me as a student of character, who, tired of books, of the dead subject, has taken to vivisection—vivisection of the soul. Well, sir, it is to be a duel, then. Good. I have a suspicion you imagine it is your bold bearing that makes me so placid. You are mistaken. It is my habit in opposition. I learnt it in the jungle, shooting tigers. My gun is always heavily loaded. I take a deliberate aim. If I shoot a tiger, it is killed; if a turtle-dove, it is blown to pieces. You comprehend.'
'Me, the turtle-dove; yes. And the bereaved mate will peck herself to death,' said Frank with considerable coolness.
'In a cage we can force her to live,' said Lee.
Frank had thought to meet Lee on his own ground, but found himself wholly at sea. He would strike out boldly till he touched land again.
'I am astonished,' he said, 'that a man like you, who seem to trample on conventionalities should arrogate to himself that absurd authority claimed by some fathers over the hands of their daughters.'
'And what if it were because parental jurisdiction over marriage is becoming a thing of the past that I make myself absolute?'
'That would be very foolish,' said Frank, forgetting with whom he was dealing.
'That is no argument, my good sir,' came from Lee at once, and
Frank saw his mistake.
'You see,' continued Lee, 'the idea of the parent is changing. The popular parent is the servant of his children. Now, whenever an idea, an opinion—a song, a faith, a show—becomes popular, I know at once it has some inherent weakness, some hollow lie; for the world is weak and false, and all kinds of froth and flame commend themselves to it. An opinion is like a jug of beer: the foaming head attracts the youth; the old toper blows it off.'