Shirley

proceed.«
    »I should like to see that letter.«
    »You
cannot
see it.«
    »I
must
and
shall,
ma'am. I am your guardian.«
    »Having ceased to be a ward, I have no guardian.«
    »Ungrateful being! Reared by me as my own daughter –«
    »Once more, uncle, have the kindness to keep to the point. Let us both remain cool. For my part, I do not wish to get into a passion; but, you know, once drive me beyond certain bounds, I care little what I say: I am not then soon checked. Listen! You have asked me whether Sir Philip made me an offer: that question is answered. What do you wish to know next?«
    »I desire to know whether you accepted or refused him? and know it I will.«
    »Certainly: you ought to know it. I refused him.«
    »Refused him! You –
you,
Shirley Keeldar,
refused
Sir Philip Nunnely?«
    »I did.«
    The poor gentleman bounced from his chair, and first rushed, and then trotted, through the room.
    »There it is! There it is! There it is!«
    »Sincerely speaking, I am sorry, uncle, you are so disappointed.«
    Concession – contrition – never do any good with some people. Instead of softening and conciliating, they but embolden and harden them: of that number was Mr. Sympson.
    »
I
disappointed! What is it to me? Have
I
an interest in it? You would insinuate, perhaps, that I have motives?«
    »Most people have motives, of some sort, for their actions.«
    »She accuses me to my face! I – that have been a parent to her – she charges with bad motives!«
    »
Bad
motives, I did not say.«
    »And now you prevaricate. You have no principles!«
    »Uncle, you tire me: I want to go away.«
    »Go you shall not! I will be answered. What are your intentions, Miss Keeldar?«
    »In what respect?«
    »In respect of matrimony.«
    »To be quiet – and to do just as I please.«
    »Just as you please! The words are to the last degree indecorous.«
    »Mr. Sympson, I advise you not to become insulting: you know I will not bear that.«
    »You read French. Your mind is poisoned with French novels. You have imbibed French principles.«
    »The ground you are treading now returns a mighty hollow sound under your feet. Beware!«
    »It will end in infamy, sooner or later: I have foreseen it all along.«
    »Do you assert, sir, that something in which
I
am concerned will end in infamy?«
    »That it will – that it will. You said just now you would act as you please. You acknowledge no rules – no limitations.«
    »Silly stuff! and vulgar as silly!«
    »Regardless of decorum, you are prepared to fly in the face of propriety.«
    »You tire me, uncle.«
    »What, madam –
what
could be your reasons for refusing Sir Philip?«
    »At last, there is another sensible question: I shall be glad to reply to it. Sir Philip is too young for me: I regard him as a boy: all his relations – his mother especially – would be annoyed if he married me: such a step would embroil him with them: I am not his equal in the world's estimation.«
    »Is that all?«
    »Our dispositions are not compatible.«
    »Why, a more amiable gentleman never breathed.«
    »He is very amiable – very excellent – truly estimable, but
not my master:
not in one point. I could not trust myself with his happiness: I would not undertake the keeping of it for thousands: I will accept no hand which cannot hold me in check.«
    »I thought you liked to do as you please: you are vastly inconsistent.«
    »When I promise to obey, it shall be under the conviction that I can keep that promise: I could not obey a youth like Sir Philip. Besides, he would never command me: he would expect me always to rule – to guide, and I have no taste whatever for the office.«
    »
You
no taste for swaggering, and subduing, and ordering, and ruling?«
    »Not my husband: only my uncle.«
    »Where is the difference?«
    »There
is
a slight difference: that is certain. And I know full well, any man who wishes to live in decent comfort with me as a husband must be able to control me.«
    »I wish you had a real tyrant.«
    »A tyrant would not hold me for a day – not for an hour. I would rebel – break from him – defy him.«
    »Are you not enough to bewilder one's brain with your self-contradiction?«
    »It is evident I bewilder your brain.«
    »You talk of Sir Philip being young: he is two-and-twenty.«
    »My husband must be thirty, with the sense of forty.«
    »You had better pick out some old man – some white-headed or bald-headed swain.«
    »No, thank you.«
    »You could lead some doting