Richmond stood up straight, and his scanty hair and thick eyebrows seemed to be assisting materially in making him the embodiment of horrified amazement. “Don’t be alarmed, father. The name over the door is not to be Richmond or Beatrice, but Valentine--though, of course, I’ll take part openly. I want everybody to know, because I intend to make loads and loads of money. You’ve no idea of the profits in fashionable dressmaking. Eighty--a hundred--a hundred and fifty per cent!” “You are joking!” She pretended to misunderstand. “No--fully that,” she cried delightedly. “Beatrice! I forbid it.” “But I’m not asking you to invest,” laughed she. “In fact, we don’t want any more capital or partners. Personally, I wish Léry were an employee instead of a partner. But Valentine would insist, I’m sure----” “You will drive me mad!” exclaimed her father, throwing his arms about wildly. “This folly is worse than the infatuation for that artist!” And he started up, fumed about the room, sank exhausted and trembling into a chair. “You’ll be the death of me!” he gasped. “Now, do be reasonable, father,” she urged. “Why shouldn’t I use my talents for business and for dress and make myself rich? Don’t talk to me about what people will think. I don’t care. I’ve found out what people are worth. Why, even my friend, Allie Kinnear, hasn’t been near me.” “I forbid it! I forbid it!” her father cried, shaking his fists in the air. And off again he went into one of his paroxysms of fury. “But I’m of age.” “I’ll have you locked up as insane! I’ll have a commission appointed to take charge of your property!” “When I showed them my plans for the shop I think they’d let me alone. We’ll make barrels of money. New York hasn’t seen such a shop as I’d run. The trouble with the dressmaking business is that no woman who really knows----” He seized her by the arm, glared into her face. “This is an infernal scheme to bring me to terms! Has that artist put you up to it?” “How absurd! I haven’t seen him. I doubt if he knows I’ve left home. Father, since I seem not to be able to get him I’ve simply got to do something--something that will keep me so busy I shan’t have time to think. For I’m not--as you imagine--the victim of a foolish girl’s infatuation. I’m really in love, father dear--sensibly in love.” “No one is sensible who’s in love,” said he in a far gentler tone. His rages had about exhausted his strength. He was feeling an ominous feebleness of limb and heart that alarmed him. “Nobody’s sensible who’s in love,” he repeated. “Nobody’s sensible who isn’t--if they get half a chance,” replied she. “It’s the only thing in life.” And his haggard face and the hungry misery of his eyes contained no denial of her confident assertion. “Is there _nothing_ that will induce you to come home, Beatrice?” he pleaded with the weakness of exhaustion. “I’ll never speak of Peter--of marriage--again. I’ll give you whatever income you want--in your own right.” “And Roger?”