Abased by her cold, she took a low view of her goings-on with Roger. She succeeded in shaming her skulking pride into the open, where it made earnest efforts to reproach her for having thrown herself at a man who had promptly and decisively repulsed her. No matter what his reason. He had shown her that he did not love her--and did not want her love. The older people grow, the less nervous they are about being sillily romantic; they glory in the divine follies of love. Young heart being all they have left of youth’s fair, fleeting riches, they try to enjoy it to the uttermost. But young people, if at all sophisticated, shy from extravagant romance; they fear to be convicted of the horrible crime of being young and green; they dread falling victim to the humiliating swindle of loving more than they are loved, of giving more than they get. Until Beatrice met Roger she had prided herself on the control of her mind over her heart, on being “woman of the world.” She now began to smile--faintly, but with attempt at mockery--upon her delirium of love. She did not regret it, did not repent it. But she thought of it as a thing of the past. Her father dropped in on her for a little talk before dressing for dinner. He had never been so attentive--and no man could be more fascinating than Richmond, when he wished. “I’ve got to make a tour of the Northwest,” said he. “I must start not later than the twenty-second of May--and be gone a month. I wish you’d either put off the wedding till I get back or have it before I go. When Peter comes down to-morrow you and he can talk it over. You know I’d rather you married before I go. I’m not as young as I once was, and there’s an element of uncertainty in these journeys. But it shall be just as you say.” “It’ll have to be put off,” said Beatrice. “Don’t forget that Peter has made arrangements for you to be presented at court the tenth of June.” “I simply can’t get ready.” “Your mother thinks you can,” said Richmond, showing his keen disappointment, but altogether in regret, not at all in anger or reproach. “Still, do the best you can. Think it over. Talk with Peter.” “I’ll do the best I can,” said Beatrice. She had protested more strongly to him than she had in her own heart, for she was now sunk down into indifference. Nothing seemed to matter. The cold had left her physically below par; her mental state was therefore blackly pessimistic. Roger’s lack of response seemed profoundly discouraging; she began to doubt whether she loved him--whether she ever had loved as she had fancied. We should get very much nearer to the truth about human adversities and disasters--the truth about their real causes--did we but know exactly what was the state of health of the persons chiefly concerned. Beatrice well and Beatrice ill were two absolutely different persons. “Yes--I know you’ll oblige me if it’s possible,” said her father.