“Yes,” said Wynne. “I’ll make a way in the world—I want to and I shall—but it will be my way, not yours.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I am not going to the City—I absolutely refuse—absolutely.”
“Continue like that and I won’t be answerable for my actions,” cried Mr. Rendall.
“And you shan’t be for mine.”
The determination in Wynne’s tone was extraordinary considering his age and fragility. Without raising his voice he dominated his father by every means of expression. Mr. Rendall felt this to be so, and the shame of it scarleted his features.
“Since you were born,” he shouted, “you have been perverse and maddening—ever since the day you were born!”
“Never once since the day I was born have you tried to see how my mind worked,” came the retort. “You have done no more than force your mental workings on me. All I know or shall know will be in spite of you.”
“Have you no proper feelings?”
“No, not as you read the word. Proper feelings are free feelings, new thoughts and fresh touches of all that is wonderful and unexplored. You think in a circle—an inner circle that constricts everything worth while like the coils of a snake. And now I’ve had enough of it—enough of you—more than enough.”