“Father--father--how can you! And you have a sense of humor, too!” “It’s fortunate for you, my dear, that Wade has the good sense to see he would be ill at ease out of his own class. If he were willing, and I were foolish, and you married him--how wretched you’d be when the awakening came!” The girl turned sadly away. “You don’t believe in love,” she said with bitterness. “You don’t believe in anything but money.” “I want to see my daughter happy,” said Richmond with a melancholy, reproachful dignity that made her ashamed of herself. “Yes--I know you do, father,” said she. “But”--with a look of hesitation that might readily have been mistaken for weakness--“I see I must go my own way.” Richmond reflected that this did not mean much, as Roger Wade was firmly set against marriage. So he said, with hypocritical resignation: “Very well, my dear. Do as you like. All I want is you to come home.” Beatrice slowly shook her head. “I can’t go,” said she. Her father stared, astounded; her expression made her words as far as possible from impulsive or careless. “I see you haven’t changed at all. If I went back the same trouble would break out again--only worse. Besides, what chance would I have to get him? You’d work against me secretly if you didn’t openly. No--I don’t trust you. I must make up my mind to shift for myself.” “What on earth are you talking about?” he ejaculated. “Are you stark mad?” “No. I’m becoming sane,” said she quietly. “Won’t you sit down a minute?” Richmond seated himself meekly. The fear that had brought him there to apologize was chilling his hot temper. “I left home partly because of Roger Wade,” she proceeded to explain, “but not altogether. There was another reason--as strong--maybe stronger. You had opened my eyes to the truth about myself--to what a degraded position I was in.” “Degraded?” echoed he wonderingly. Then, somewhat like an alienist humoring an insane patient: “But go on, my dear.” “I had been imagining all along that I was free. I suddenly found that I wasn’t free at all--that I had to do what you said--even about the things that meant my whole life--had to do as you ordered or lose all the things you had made necessities to me--all the luxury and the enjoyments and the friends even. I saw I wasn’t anything in myself--nothing at all--and I had been going round with my head high, so proud and so pleased with myself! I understood why Roger Wade didn’t think me worth while. I understood why you could treat me contemptuously.” “Is that all?” inquired her father, when she paused for a reflective silence. “No--just a little more. So--I’m not going back home with you--not just now. I’m going on with the dressmaking.” “With the--_what_?” “Oh, I forgot I hadn’t told you,” said she with a smile. “Valentine and I--and Monsieur Léry, whom she is marrying--are starting a dressmaking shop.”