Mrs. Richmond’s eyes opened, saw him. Over her face flitted an expression as primeval and as moving as that of a weary slave awakened from delightful sleep to resume the hated toil. “Why did you wake me?” she cried peevishly.
“Where’s Beatrice?”
Mrs. Richmond resumed her normal expression of haughty discontent. “She was in here a while ago,” replied she. “In her rooms, probably.”
“Did she tell you?” asked he.
“About Wade?”
“Yes,” snapped her husband. “What else is there, pray? Has she been up to something else disgraceful?”
“Why, Dan, she’s done nothing disgraceful,” cried the mother. “Every girl has those passing fancies. But she’ll not oppose you. Anyhow, her own good sense——”
Richmond gave an impatient snort. “She’s a fool—an impetuous fool.”
His wife ventured a sly, catlike look from the corner of her eye into his back. “You always say she’s the most like you of any of——”
“She takes her impetuosity from me. I hardly need say from whom she inherits her folly.”