“I wish she hadn’t. It’s a—ridiculous sort of name—I would like to have been called Elizabeth—it is my name, too.”
“Elizabeth?” Mr. Ashe repeated. “It doesn’t seem to suit you nearly as well, Honey. All the same, if you like it. But Blue—Elizabeth, you know that this is your ranch, and that your father wanted you brought up to know all about it, so as to be able to manage things for yourself a bit—at a pinch.”
“I shall sell—as soon as I come of age.”
Mr. Ashe rose. “I reckon we’d best not talk any more now.”
“Uncle Clifford.” Blue Bonnet looked up. “Uncle Clifford, please don’t think it’s just—temper. I mean it, truly—I sha’n’t ever make a Westerner. I’m sorry—on your account. Still, it’s true—I hate it all—now,—everything the life out here stands for—and I want to go East. I—I don’t see why I shouldn’t choose my own life—for myself.”
Her uncle looked down into the upturned, eager face. “You seem to have gone over this pretty thoroughly in your own mind, Bl—Elizabeth.”
“I have, Uncle Cliff.”
“Well, you and I’ll talk things over another time; I’ve some business to see to now. I suppose things’ll have to go on, even if you do intend to sell—in six years.”
“I wish you’d try to see my side of it, Uncle Cliff.”
“I’m going to—after a while. Just now, I can’t get beyond the fact that you hate the Blue Bonnet Ranch. I hope your father doesn’t know it!” And Mr. Ashe turned away.