"Don't you? Well, I do. I'm sure of it."
"Dearest, if you wouldn't look at me in that square-chinned way! It's so like your poor Papa."
"I'm Papa's daughter. But I don't intend to be Prince Dalmar-Kalm's step-daughter."
I began to cry a little. "Why do you always try to thwart me when I want to be happy?" I asked.
"That isn't fair to say. Look at my short dress and my hair in pigtails. There's proof enough of what I'm ready to do to make you happy. I let you be a Countess, and you may be a Princess if you can buy the title, but no Princes on this ranch!"
My blood was up, and I determined to fight. "Beechy," I exclaimed. "I guess I've a right to do as I like, and I will. It's for your good as well as mine, for me to marry a title, and I'm going to. I shall say 'yes' when the Prince proposes."
"He won't propose," said she, suddenly as cool as if she had been in a refrigerator.
"He will, the minute I give him the opportunity, and I shall to-morrow; I don't care what you do."
"I bet he won't. I'll bet you a good deal. Anything you like, except the long dress I've got in my trunk, and the package of hairpins in my grip."
"What makes you think he won't?" I asked, worried by her manner, which was odd.