“Oh--to be sure,” said Peter. “I suppose that has got something to do with it. But your obstinacy----” “That’s it,” mocked the girl. “Obstinacy. Well, whatever my reason is, I’m leaving here by the next train.” “But I was going by that,” objected Hanky. “I must get away from here.” “Better stay on and let father see you’re not at all to blame,” advised she. “If we went up town together he’d be sure you were conspiring with me.” “Oh, I’ll stay--I’ll stay,” cried Peter. “But where are you going, Beatrice?” “Not to get any of my friends in trouble,” said she. “I’ll take Valentine and go to a hotel--to the Wolcott. Come and call. I’ll not tell father.” “At a hotel!” Peter stared stupefied. “You don’t mean you’re leaving home--for good?” “Wouldn’t you--in my place?” “No. I’d be sensible and marry the man my father wished.” Beatrice looked at him quizzically. “Hanky,” said she, “you ought to fall on your knees every day of your life and give thanks that you had the good luck to escape marrying me.” Her mischievous smile, her mocking tone, combined with the words themselves, had an immediately tranquilizing effect upon him. Not for the first time by any means he had a chilling, queasy misgiving that there was truth in that view of a marriage between them. After a pause he said: “But what will you do?” “Blessed if I know,” replied she, as if the matter were of not the smallest consequence. “You’ll have no friends. Nobody’ll dare be friends with you.” “Have I any friends now?--any worth calling my own?” “Then, as I understand it, you haven’t got much money. About enough to pay for dresses?” “About.” “Then--what will you do?” repeated he, a real, friendly solicitude in his voice and, better still, in his eyes. “That’s unimportant. I’m escaping worse than I could possibly be running into.” “Marry me, Beatrice,” cried he. “It’s not a bad bet if you lose.” She put out her hand impulsively with a grateful smile, the sweetest and friendliest he had ever had from her. “I like that, Hanky! And I like you when you show what you really are. But I’m not taking advantage of your generosity.” “I mean it, Beatrice--in dead, sober earnest--on a cold collar.” She shook her pretty head smilingly. “Good-by. Come to see me. If we run across each other when father’s about scowl and look the other way.” “What do you take me for?” “For a person with a little sense. Keep solid with father--for Allie’s sake.” “But I want _you_----” She fled, laughing as if she had not a care in the world.