“You—side with him—against me!” Beatrice’s scorn was superb. “Oh, I wish I could marry you—just to punish you for that!”
Peter looked uncomfortable but dogged. “I’d not dare offend your father, anyhow. It’d cost me a pot of money. He’s got me up to my eyes in a lot of his deals. And if he turned against me—gad, I’d look like a sheep just after shearing. Beatrice, don’t you see it? There’s no escape for us. We ought to marry. We want to marry. We’ve got to marry.”
Beatrice’s answer was a glance of contempt. “I understand now,” said she bitterly. “You’d marry Allie Kinnear, if you dared. But you don’t dare because you’re afraid it’d cost you a little money.”
“A little!” cried Peter. “About a third of all I’ve got.”
“And you’ve got about five times as much as you could possibly spend. Oh, I had no idea you were so contemptible. You’d marry me against my will—against your own heart—for fear and for money.”
“I say, now!” protested Vanderkief. “That ain’t fair, Beatrice.”
“Will you help me?” demanded she.
“I can’t—and I won’t,” replied he unhesitatingly. “And, furthermore, I’m going to put it up to you and your father that if you don’t marry me next month I’ll not marry you at all.” And Peter drew himself to his full height and swelled himself to his excellent full figure and looked fiercely resolved.
Beatrice stood motionless, her gaze fixed upon a worn place in the grass just across the lake and not far from the cascade.
“What do you say, Beatrice?” he asked rather uneasily.