“Power! power! power! Yes, that is what you love, above all things and all persons, and I tell you plainly, General Clarendon,” pursued Beauclerc, too angry to heed or see Lady Cecilia’s remonstrating looks, “at once I tell you that you have not the power. You had it. It is past and gone. The power of affection you had, if not of reason; but force, General Clarendon, despotism, can never govern me. I submit to no man’s mere will, much less to any man’s sheer obstinacy.”
At the word obstinacy, the general’s face, which was before rigid, grew hard as iron. Beauclerc walked up and down the room with great strides, and as he strode he went on talking to himself.
“To be kept from the use of my own money, treated like a child—an idiot—at my time of life! Not considered at years of discretion, when other men of the meanest capacity, by the law of the land, can do what they please with their own property! By heavens!—that will of my father’s——”
“Should be respected, my dear Granville, since it was your father’s will,” said Lady Cecilia, joining him as he walked. “And respect——” He stopped short.
“My dear Lady Cecilia, for your sake——” he tried to restrain himself.
“Till this moment never did I say one disrespectful word to General Clarendon. I always considered him as the representative of my father; and when most galled I have borne the chains in which it was my father’s pleasure to leave me. Few men of my age would have so submitted to a guardian not many years older than himself.”
“Yes, and indeed that should be considered,” said Lady Cecilia, turning to the general.
“I have always considered General Clarendon more as my friend than my guardian.”
“And have found him so, I had hoped,” said the general, relaxing in tone but not in looks.
“I have never treated you, sir, as some wards treat their guardians. I have dealt openly, as man of honour to man of honour, gentleman to gentleman, friend to friend.”