“But what is to become of you? Of course, I’ll have something; and as long as I have anything--” Mrs. Richmond checked herself, flushed. “In fact, I have got a little, Beatrice. I put by in case there ever should be this kind of trouble between him and the children. I can let you have a good income--enough, with what you’ve got, to make a showing you needn’t be ashamed of. Have you seen Mr. Wade?” Beatrice put her arms around her mother and kissed her--tenderly, but with that carefulness which one woman never neglects in caressing another who has made a careful toilet. “If I need the money I’ll tell you, dear,” said she. “No, I haven’t seen him. Have you?” “Late yesterday afternoon. He was striding along the road--didn’t see me.” “How was he looking?” “Anxious and depressed, I thought.” Beatrice beamed. “You’re not telling me that--just to make me feel good?” “No--no, indeed. He looked almost haggard.” Beatrice kissed her mother again. There could not be the slightest doubt. Her mother, in the habit of siding with her children against their aggressive father and of protecting them from him, was moving in her direction. “Why don’t _you_ go to see him?” she boldly suggested. “If your father should find out!” “You’ve got the picture as an excuse. You know, father thinks we met Roger in Europe.” “Yes--yes--I had forgotten.... I don’t know what possesses me! I can’t understand myself, even thinking of helping you in such an absurd, idiotic thing as marrying a poor artist.” “A poor man--not a poor artist,” laughed Beatrice. “I suppose,” went on Mrs. Richmond, “it must be for the pleasure of seeing your father defeated in something he has set his heart on. He has trampled me so often I’d like to see him humbled once.” “You ought to have seen him when I told him I was going into the dressmaking business.” “Beatrice!” cried her mother--and her expression of horrified amazement was a fit companion for that of Richmond. “I’m going to make stacks of money,” said Beatrice carelessly. “You know I’ve got taste--and a good business head.” “Didn’t your father forbid you?” demanded her mother, quivering with agitation. “Yes--and I reminded him I was of age.” “Why, it’ll ruin us all!” wailed Mrs. Richmond. “Beatrice, I do believe you’ve lost your mind.” “Just what father said.” “Surely you won’t do it, now that I’ve offered you a good income. You can have fifteen thousand--in addition to what you’ve got.” “And how would I pass the time?” “Why, as you always have.” The peculiar, romantic--“crazy,” her father called it--look drifted into the girl’s face, completely transforming it. “Yes,” replied she dreamily, “but that was before I knew Roger.” “What _shall_ I do!” moaned Mrs. Richmond. She was anything but a keen observer, but she was woman enough to understand that look. “If you married him you’d give this up--wouldn’t you?” “I hadn’t thought. Yes--I suppose I’d have to. Looking after him would take all my time.”