Winnington too had risen, and was standing with one hand on the mantelpiece. His brow was slightly furrowed, not frowning exactly, but rather with the expression of one trying to bring his mind into as close touch as possible with another mind.
"I must of course agree with you. That is evidently one of the objects of the will, though by no means—I think—the only one. And as to that, should you not ask yourself—had not your father a right, even a duty, to look after the disposal of his money as he thought best? Surely it was his responsibility—especially as he was old, and you were young."
Delia had begun to feel impatient—to resent the very mildness of his tone. She felt, as though she were an insubordinate child, being gently reasoned with.
"No, I don't admit it!" she said passionately. "It was tampering with the right of the next generation!"
"Might you not say the same of the whole—or almost the whole of our system of inheritance?" he argued. "I should put it—that the old are always trying to preserve and protect something they know is more precious to them than it can be to the young—something as to which, with the experience of life behind them, they believe they are wiser than the young. Ought the young to resent it?"
"Yes," persisted Delia. "Yes! They should be left to make their own experiments."
"They have life wherewith to make them! But the dead—" He paused. But Delia felt and quivered under the unspoken appeal; and also under the quick touch of something more personal—more intimate—in his manner, expressing, it seemed, some deep feeling of his own. He, in turn, perceived that she had grown very pale; he guessed even that she was suddenly not very far from tears. He seemed to realise the weeks, perhaps months, of conflict through which the girl had just passed. He was sincerely sorry for her—sincerely drawn to her.
Delia broke the silence.
"It is no good I think discussing this any more—is it? There's the will, and the question is"—she faced him boldly—"how are you and I going to get on, Mr. Winnington?"
Winnington's seriousness broke up. He threw her a smiling look, and with his hands in his pockets began to pace the room reflectively.