He paused, walked away with his hands in his pockets, and came back again.
"I have been making some enquiries about him. He is not a man with whom you ought to associate—either in public, or in private."
She gave a sound—half scorn—half indignation which startled him.
"You mean—because of the divorce case?"
He looked at her amazed.
"That is what I meant. But—I certainly do not wish to discuss it with you. Will you not take it from me that Mr. Lathrop is not—cannot be—a man whom as a young unmarried woman you ought to receive in your house—or with whom you should be seen in public."
"No, indeed I won't take it from you!" she said passionately. "Miss Marvell knows—Miss Marvell told me. He ran away with some one he loved. Her husband was vile! But she couldn't get any help—because of the law—the abominable law—which punishes women—and lets men go free. So they went away together, and after a little she died. Alter your law, Mr. Winnington!—make it equal for men and women—and then we'll talk."
As she spoke—childishly, defiant—Winnington's mind was filled with a confusion of clashing thoughts—the ideals of his own first youth which made such a speech in the mouth of a girl of twenty-one almost intolerable to him—and the moral conditions—slowly gained—of his maturity. He agreed with what she said. And yet it was shocking to him to hear her say it.
"I don't quarrel with you as to that," he said, gravely, after a moment. "Though I confess that in my belief you are too young to have any real opinion about it. But there was much in the case which concerned Mr. Lathrop, of which you can have no idea. I repeat—he is not a fit companion for you—and you do yourself harm by appearing with him—in public or private."
"Miss Marvell approves"—said Delia obstinately.