Miss Clermont, who was now thoroughly adapted to her new rank, smiled politely and glided into the adjoining room, closing the door behind her. Said Beatrice: “You can’t imagine how splendid she is. We shall make a fortune. I’m sure we shall. We have rented a shop--in Thirty-second Street--south side--three doors from Fifth Avenue. Frightful rent, but I insisted on beginning at the top.” “I saw Wade yesterday afternoon,” said Richmond. The animation died out of the girl’s face. And with its animation departed most of its beauty, at least most of its charm. “I practically asked him to marry you.” Her eyes lit up, immediately became dull again. “He was polite--everything a man could be. But he--he will never marry.” “Until he loves,” murmured Beatrice. “There are men--” began Richmond. “But they don’t love!” exclaimed Beatrice. “Perhaps so,” said Richmond, who would not have ventured to discuss anything with her, however mildly. Also, no woman, no young woman could be expected to understand that marriage was not the one absorbing longing of every unattached man, as it was of every unattached woman. “Anyhow, he will never marry.” “Until he loves,” repeated Beatrice. Richmond was silent. He would not aggravate her unhappiness by telling her that Roger loved her. “Is he still intending to go abroad?” she asked. “To-morrow,” replied her father. “To-morrow!” Beatrice started from her chair, an expression of wild disorder flashing into her face. But she fought for and regained control, sat back quietly with a calm, “Oh, I thought it was to be next week.” “He has changed his plans.” The daughter was looking at the father with scrutinizing eyes, full of doubt. He saw it, said in the tone that carried conviction, “I have come over to your side. He is a much bigger man than I thought--or than you know.” “I know enough,” said the girl. “At any rate, I wanted him for a son-in-law. I did my best. I haven’t anything he wants.” “Nor I,” said Beatrice with a bitter, self-scorning laugh. “He is opposed to marriage. He thinks----” “He doesn’t love,” interrupted she. “That’s the whole story. Well”--she made a gesture of dismissal “now, let me tell you about the shop.” “He has sent----” “Please!” said she imperiously. “No more about him.” “The picture--he promised to have it sent to Red Hill after he sailed. Instead, it came last night.” “Why did he do that?” demanded she swiftly. “I asked him for it.” “No. I mean, why did he change his mind?” “Oh, probably for no reason. That’s a trifle.” She was sitting up, straight and alert. Her eyes were aglow with excitement. “He is sailing to-morrow instead of next week,” she said rapidly. “Instead of taking my picture--our picture--his and mine--instead of taking it with him as he intended at first, he gives it to you. He first says he’ll send it when he sails, then--after he has talked with you--he changes his mind and gets it out of the house--out of his sight--at once.”