"I will please the girl I hope to marry," he said in a strained voice. "She loves the prairie, and she shall have her choice. I think you know, Beatrice, that I have long been waiting for you."
Beatrice was annoyed to find herself blushing.
"I'm sorry," she faltered. "You know I tried to show you—you must see it was difficult."
"It is not your fault that I wouldn't take a hint," he answered quietly. "But you are very young; and I knew that I would never change."
"You thought I might?"
"I hoped so. I was afraid that after the romantic admiration you have had from the boys, you might find me too matter-of-fact and staid. But there was a chance that you might get used to that, and I made up my mind to be patient."
"I'm sorry, for your sake, that you waited."
Her glance was gently regretful, and he read decision in it, but he was a determined man.
"It seems I haven't waited long enough," he returned with a faint smile. "But while you will grow more attractive for a long time yet, I have reached my prime, and inheriting the English property rather forced my hand. After all, our life here is bare and monotonous—you would have a wider circle and more scope in the Old Country."
Beatrice liked his terseness and in some ways she liked and respected him. Moreover she was offered a beautiful English country house, a position of some influence, and friends of taste and rank.