At this he lost patience. “You force me to be severe with you,” said he, coming close to her and shaking his fist in her face. “Now listen, young lady. You are going home with me. And you are going to marry Vanderkief within six weeks.”
Beatrice’s expression was, in its way, quite as unpleasant as her father’s. “You can’t ruin me, father,” said she with an ugly little laugh. “What you gave me is invested in Governments.”
Richmond ground his teeth. “Don’t remind me of my infernal folly. But I’ve had a valuable lesson. Not another cent do I give away till I’m dead.”
“As soon as I can support myself,” said Beatrice, “you’ll get back what you gave me.”
“Support yourself!” Richmond laughed—with real heartiness. He was surveying her standing there, in a fashionable carriage dress and looking engagingly fine and useless. “What could you do?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Beatrice, flushing with mortification.
“Enough of this!” cried Richmond. “You certainly can’t think me so weak and meek that I’d let you marry that fortune-hunting painter chap. I’ll explain.”
“Not to me,” said Beatrice, walking calmly to the door. “Good-by, father.”
“If you don’t do as I say,” exclaimed Richmond, “I’ll ruin him.”
Beatrice stopped short. She did not turn round, but from the crown of her head to the sweep of her skirt her whole figure expressed attention.