The girl did not answer; she was deep in thought. Her mother sat down near the door. “You _know_ so. I see you are more sensible than I feared. You know he’s simply looking for money.” “You don’t understand me at all, mother.” Beatrice leaned toward her mother across the arm of the sofa. “Haven’t you ever wanted anything--wanted it so intensely, so--so fiercely--that you would take it on any terms--would do anything to get it?” “Beatrice--that is--shocking!” As the word shocking had lost its force in the general emancipation from the narrow moralities that is part of fashionable life, Mrs. Richmond decided to bolster it up with something having real strength. “Also, it is ridiculous,” she added. “Father would understand,” said the girl pensively. “He has that sort of nature. I inherit it from him. You know, they’ve almost ruined and jailed him several times because he got one of those cravings that simply have to be satisfied.” No loyal wife could have taken a better air and tone than did Daniel Richmond’s wife as she rebuked: “You are talking of your father, Beatrice!” “Yes--and I love him--adore him--just because he _does_ things. He’s good--good as gold. But he isn’t afraid to be bad. He doesn’t hesitate to take what he wants because he hasn’t the nerve.” “Your father has been lied about--maligned--enviously slandered by his enemies.” “Don’t talk rot, mother,” interrupted the girl. “You know him as well as I. You’re afraid of him. I’m not. He knows he can rule you through your love of luxury--just as he makes Rhoda and her earl crawl and fawn and lick his boots--and the boys--even Conny, who’s only fourteen. Oh, I don’t blame him for making people cringe, when he can. I like to do that, myself.” The mother regarded this daughter, so mysterious to her, with mingled admiration and terror. “You are frightful--frightful!” Beatrice seemed to accept this as a rare, agreeable compliment. “I’ve got the courage to say what I think. And--really, I’m not so frightful. I used to imagine I was. But”--she paused, laughed softly, a delightful change sweeping over her face--“just ask Chang!” To Mrs. Richmond the words and the manner of them were like an impudent defiance. They drove her almost beside herself with alarm and anger. “Your father’ll soon bring you to terms! You’ll see, miss! You’ll see.” And she nodded her head, laughing viciously, an insane glitter in her bright, brown eyes. “Yes, you’ll find out!” Beatrice was not in the least impressed. “All father can do is to cut me off. I’ve got five thousand a year in my own right--enough to keep body and soul together. So, he knows he’s powerless with me.” “What a fool he was,” cried her mother, “to give you that money.” “It isn’t altogether the money,” pursued Beatrice. “You’ve got nearly half a million put by out of the household allowances. And your jewels make as much more. Yet you’re afraid of him.”