“Go up and pack, and I’ll come back in an hour.” He rose. “What a weight this lifts off me!” And his appearance confirmed his words. “But I’m gladdest of all because it vindicates your good sense. I knew my daughter would see I was doing what was best for her, would see it just as soon as her intelligence regained control.”
Beatrice had risen; at this last sentence she sat down again with a dazed expression. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, father,” said she, hesitatingly. “I’m afraid I misunderstood you.”
Richmond saw he had gone too far—probably not much too far, but still beyond where her mood of penitence had carried her—as yet. “Let’s not discuss disagreeable things,” said he hurriedly. “Do your packing and let’s get home. Once we get there everything else can be settled easily.”
But Beatrice, after trying in vain to arrest his evading glance, kept her seat. “No, we must understand each other first,” said she decisively.
“Now, Beatrice,” protested her father at the door into the hall, “don’t spoil your happiness and my own!”
“Listen to me, father. I’ve not changed my mind about Peter—not in the least.”
“Oh—bother Peter!” exclaimed he good-humoredly.
“Do you still expect me to marry him?”
Richmond saw there was no dodging the issue. He met it squarely. “I’m sure you’ll want to marry him. But I’m not going to force you—or try to.”
“But listen. I haven’t changed my mind about Roger, either.”