Richmond winced; but those inward reminders of oncreeping old age, lonely and loveless if this girl turned from him, forbade him to draw back. “You think you could get him if I were to consent?” “Perhaps.” There was the ecstatic quiver of a newborn hope in her voice. “That is, you would marry him, even though you were convinced he was a fortune hunter?” “He might be afraid to undertake the support of as expensive a girl as I am. He doesn’t dream how inexpensive I could be.” A long pause, he gazing at the floor, she anxiously watching him. “Well--I consent,” burst from her father. His tone suggested a false admission wrung under torture. Another long pause, she eying him dubiously, he avoiding her gaze. “I don’t trust you,” said she. “It’s your own fault. You can’t blame me. I couldn’t ever trust you, after the thing you did against Roger--and your threats to Peter and to me.” “I am an old fool--a weak old fool!” he shouted, seizing his hat. “I wash my hands of you! I’m done with you!” And out he bolted, running squarely into a woman who was just entering the parlor. He did not pause to apologize. * * * * * In the afternoon Mrs. Richmond came--beautifully dressed and diffusing a strong but elegant odor of concentrated essence of lilies of the valley. “I’d have been here long ago,” she explained as she kissed and embraced her daughter and shed a few cautious tears, “but I didn’t dare. This was my first chance. Your father has absolutely forbidden me. And I had always thought he was rather partial to you. But then, I might have known. He cares for nobody--for nothing--but those schemes and plans of his. You’d never believe he was the same man as the one I married. And he isn’t. Success has turned his head.” “He was here this morning,” said Beatrice. “Here!” exclaimed her mother. “What for?” “For me.” Jealousy sparkled in her mother’s hastily veiled eyes. “Trying to get you into his power again,” she sneered. “I suppose so,” said Beatrice. “Yes--that must have been it.” “Then you are coming home?” “Oh, no.” The jealousy passed; the mother returned. “But, Beatrice--he has changed his will and has cut you off. He’s leaving your portion to Hector.” Beatrice looked uncomfortable. “I shan’t say I like that,” said she, “for it’d be false. But I’m not coming home, just the same. There’s been a great change in me, mother.” “You always were headstrong,” said her mother. “I used to feel, when you were a baby, that the day would come when there’d be a clash between you and your father.” “Well--the clash is over. We’ll let each other alone after this.”