“_I_ tell him!” cried Peter. “You’ll have to do that yourself. You’re used to him. You don’t realize how he gets on my nerves. If I tried to tell him I’d get permanent paralysis of the tongue before a word came.” “What a stupid you are! Don’t you see that I’m letting you tell him, as a favor--to help you to escape? You go to him--complain of me--urge him to make me keep my promise. Understand?” Peter saw it, looked humble apology. “Put it to him as strong as you like,” pursued Beatrice. “You can’t make it any worse for me, and you’ll make it a lot better for yourself.” Peter looked at her so admiringly that she sent him away on the instant. She knew him--knew how easily she could get him back if she wished, and how little it would take to make him forget his resentment at her failure to appreciate him and at her father’s energetic methods--and his dread of what life with so strenuous a will as hers might mean. “Tell him right away, Hanky,” advised she, pointing with her sunshade to where Richmond stood in the library window observing them. “Let’s get it over with.” * * * * * Mrs. Richmond sat writing at a desk not far from where Richmond was standing. As Peter started up the walk toward the house Richmond said to his wife: “What a chucklehead Peter is! No wonder Beatrice felt like balking.” “Oh, I shouldn’t say Peter was worth getting excited about, one way or the other,” replied Mrs. Richmond. “The young men growing up nowadays are a mighty cheap, thin lot. He’s as good as any.” Richmond pressed his lips together firmly. “And he’s the best possible husband for her. A strong woman ought to marry a small man if there’s to be peace.” Mrs. Richmond sneered--faintly and covertly--at the paper before her. She did not miss any of the possible implications of her husband’s remark. For once, however, she did him an injustice. He was not hitting at her--had not meant to insinuate that a strong man ought to marry a small woman, and that Daniel Richmond had done this very thing. He was thinking only of his daughter and Peter. He would have liked to provide her with a real man; he sincerely regretted the exigencies of his game--of the game of life as it lies--that forbade it, that forced him to give her only a Peter Vanderkief.