“I asked him to come and see you—to beg you to go home again.”
She paused. “And he said?”
“He refused at first. As I was leaving—I hoped—he might.”
She reflected. “No, he’ll not come. Unless—but I’ll take no chances.”
“I know he was touched by my appeal,” persisted her father. “Beatrice—go on with this dressmaking if you must. But—forgive me and let things be with us as they were before.” He stretched out trembling hands toward her. “You’re all I’ve got in the world—all I care for. I’m not ashamed or repentant for what I did. I did it because I thought it was for your good. But I’m sorry. I was mistaken.”
“I do forgive you,” said the girl, “though I don’t like to say anything that sounds priggish and pious. But you can’t expect me to trust you, can you, father?”
“I’ve tried to pay for those bonds, but he has sold them to some enemy of mine—and for a good price.”
“Aren’t you ashamed about the bonds?” said the daughter with a roguish smile.
“No,” replied Richmond doggedly. “In the circumstances—what I believed and everything—that was the right move.”
Beatrice laughed with a touch of her old mirthfulness, with all her old adoration of his skill and courage. “You are so different!” cried she. “Not a bit a hypocrite. We’re friends again—until you try to undermine and ruin my dressmaking business.”