Richmond gazed at her with marveling eyes. She was clairvoyant—this wonderful daughter of his!
Her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled. Her words came joyfully tumbling over each other: “Why is he in such a hurry to sail—to get rid of my picture? Because he’s afraid! He distrusts himself. He’s fighting hard. He— Father, he loves me!”
“Beatrice,” said Richmond tenderly, “he will never marry. He is a man of the unshakable sort—of my sort——”
Beatrice laughed. “You haven’t changed in this affair—oh, no!”
Richmond smiled guiltily. “I should have said, he is a man whose resolves haven’t been shaken by age and by foolish paternal fondness long indulged.”
“He is afraid! He is flying—flying from love!”
Richmond’s face wore a look of deepest anxiety. “My dear, you will only distress yourself with false hopes. There are things about men—men like him—that you don’t understand.”
“Of course. But there are also other things that you don’t understand, father dear.”
“The picture is at home. Won’t you come and see it?”
“I must see him first. I must dress and go at once.” And she was up and was hastily gathering together the businesslike papers strewn upon the table among the breakfast dishes. “You’ll excuse me, father——”