"Yes, mamma."
"And by what right, may I ask, does Mr. Pryme commence a letter to you in the warm terms of affection which I have had the pleasure of reading?"
"By the right which I myself have given him," she answered, boldly.
Regardless of her cold, she sat upright in her bed; a flush of defiance in her face, her short dark hair flung back from her brow in wild confusion. She understood at once that all had been discovered, and she was going to do battle for her lover.
"Do you mean to tell me, Beatrice, that you have engaged yourself to this Mr. Pryme?"
"Certainly I have."
"You know very well that your father and I will never consent to it."
"Never is a long day, mamma."
"Don't take up my words like that. I consider, Beatrice, that you have deceived me shamefully. You persuaded me to ask that young man to the house because you said that Sophy Macpherson was fond of him."
"So she is."