"But now you and I have to consider this matter as sensible people, and I suggest that for a man who is a complete stranger to me, and probably altogether out of sympathy with the ideas and principles, I believe in and am determined to act upon—(for otherwise my father would not have chosen you)—to undertake the management of my life and affairs, would be really grotesque. It must lead to endless friction and trouble between us. If you refuse, the solicitors tell me, the Public Trustee—which seems to be a government office—will manage the property, and the Court of Chancery will appoint a guardian in accordance with my father's wishes. That would be bad enough, considering that I am of full age and in my right mind—I can't promise to give a guardian chosen in such a way, a good time. But at any rate, it would be less odious to fight a court and an office, if I must fight, than a gentleman who is my near neighbour in the county, and was my father's and mother's friend. I do hope you will think this over very carefully, and will relieve both yourself and me from an impossible state of things. I perfectly realise of course that my father appointed you my guardian, in order to prevent me from making certain friends, and doing certain things. But I do not admit the right of any human being—not even a father—to dictate the life of another. I intend to stick to my friends, And to do what my conscience directs.
"Should you however accept the guardianship—after this candid statement of mine—you will, I suppose, feel bound to carry out my father's wishes by refusing me money for the purposes he disapproved. He told me indeed that I should be wholly dependent on my guardian for money during the next three years, even though I have attained my legal majority. I can say to you what I could not say to him, that I bitterly resent an arrangement which treats a grown person like a child. Such things are not done to men. It is only women who are the victims of them. It would be impossible to keep up friendly relations with a guardian, who would really only be there—only exist—to thwart and coerce me.
"Let me point out that at the very beginning a difference must arise between us, about the lady I am to live with. I have chosen my chaperon already, as it was my moral, if not my legal right to do. But I am quite aware that my father disapproved of her, and that you will probably take the same view. She belongs to a militant suffrage society, and is prepared at any moment to suffer for the great cause she and I believe in. As to her ability, she is one of the cleverest women in England. I am only too proud that she has consented—for a time—to share my life, and nothing will induce me to part with her—as long as she consents to stay. But of course I know what you—or any ordinary man—is likely to think of her.
"No!—we cannot agree—it is impossible we should agree—as guardian and ward. If indeed, for the sake of your old friendship with my father, you would retain the executorship—I am sure Lord Frederick Calverly will be no sort of use!—till the affairs of the will, death-duties, debts, and so on, are settled—and would at the same time give up any other connection with the property and myself, I should be enormously grateful to you. And I assure you I should be very glad indeed—for father's sake—to have your advice on many points connected with my future life; and I should be all the more ready to follow it, if you had renounced your legal power over me.
"I shall be much obliged if you will make your decision as soon as possible, so that both the lawyer and I may know how to proceed."
Yours faithfully,
DELIA BLANCHFLOWER.
Mark Winnington put down the letter. Its mixture of defiance, patronage and persuasion—its young angry cleverness—would have tickled a naturally strong sense of humour at any other time. But really the matter was too serious to laugh at.
"What on earth am I to do!"
He sat pondering, his mind running through a number of associated thoughts, of recollections old and new; those Indian scenes of fifteen years ago; the story told him by the Swedish lady; recent incidents and happenings in English politics; and finally the tone in which Euphrosyne's father had described the snatching of his own innocent from the clutches of Miss Blanchflower.