“I hope so,” said the girl, unmoved. “You see—the fact is—Chang has turned me down. I’ve got to get father to bring him round—some way.”
Her mother, at the door into the anteroom where the telephones were, halted and whirled round. “What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“I asked Mr. Wade to marry me. He refused. He is still refusing.”
Mrs. Richmond, hand on the knob, seemed to give careful thought to each of these three highly significant little sentences. Her comment was even more compressed; she laughed harshly.
“I saw that he was an unusually clever, experienced man.”
Beatrice looked quickly at her mother with shrewd, inquiring eyes. “You think he’s afraid father will cut me off?”
“Of course that’s it.”
“I wonder?” said the girl thoughtfully. “I hope so—yet I’m afraid.”
Mrs. Richmond’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened with horror. At last she said witheringly: “You—hope—so!”
The girl did not answer; she was deep in thought.