With considerable difficulty he forced his eyes to meet hers. All the latent selfishness and pettiness in his nature seemed to her to be flaunting from them. “I’m doing what’s best for _you_,” said he sullenly. She gave that short, nasty Dan Richmond laugh of hers--and his own face certainly did not suggest the sunny and generous side of his character. “Very well, dear Peter,” said she. “We’re engaged.” “And the marriage is next month, remember,” he insisted. “We want to get to London before the end of the season.” “The thirty-first of next month.” She was still looking at him with eyes full of sardonic--one might say, satanic--mirth. “Poor Peter!” she said. “I can take care of myself,” retorted he jauntily. “And of you, too. Your father understands you. He’ll see to it that you don’t have the chance to make a fool of yourself and spoil your life after you’re married.” Beatrice burst into a laugh full of pure mirth. “You _are_ a joke!” she cried. “Poor Peter!” “Let’s go back to the house,” said he angrily. “Yes--to tell the glad news.” “Now, don’t put on with me, Beatrice. Do you think I haven’t got good sense? I know that in reality you are delighted. You seem to have a prejudice against doing anything in the ordinary way. You want to make me feel in the wrong--to get an advantage over me from the start. But I’m on to you. So--come along!” Beatrice laughed again. And again she said, “Poor Peter!” XII UNDER COVER OF NIGHT Back at the house Beatrice and Peter went into the east drawing-room, where Mrs. Richmond was giving tea to her half dozen guests. As they entered from the hall Richmond appeared in the opposite doorway of the billiard room. He swept Peter’s face with one of his keen glances. As soon as the agitations and readjustments incident to new arrivals were over, he took his daughter aside. “Been quarreling with Peter?” said he. She turned her head, called out: “Hanky--just a minute. You’ll excuse him, Mrs. Martini?” And when Peter, red and ill at ease, was with them in the deep window, she said: “Tell him.” “Your daughter has--has consented,” said Peter. Richmond beamed and wrung his hand. “And as we want to get to London for the end of the season,” continued Peter, “we’d like to be married the last of next month.” “No objection--none whatever,” said Richmond. “I’m not sure,” said Beatrice, all this time inscrutably calm. “I’ll have to talk with mother first. It’s not easy to get together the clothes in such a little time.” “Nonsense,” cried Richmond. “There’s the cable.” “And you’ll want most of the things sent to you in London,” suggested Peter. Beatrice shrugged her shoulders. “Just as mamma says.” And she strolled over to the tea table and cut herself a slice of layer cake, which she proceeded to eat with much deliberation and enjoyment.