Beatrice laughed. “You ought to hear Chang on that subject.”

Her mother started up. “You don’t mean it’s gone as far as that?”

“As what?”

“You haven’t talked about such things to him?”

“Long ago,” said the daughter coolly.

Mrs. Richmond, all a-quiver with fright and fury, moved toward the door. “I shall telephone for your father at once!”

“Do.”

“We will have you put away somewhere.”

“I’m of age.”

Mrs. Richmond could not altogether conceal how this terse reminder had discomfited her. “Your father will know how to deal with this,” said she, trying to cover the essential weakness of the remark by a savagely threatening tone.

“I hope so,” said the girl, unmoved. “You see—the[117] fact is—Chang has turned me down. I’ve got to get father to bring him round—some way.”

[117]

Her mother, at the door into the anteroom where the telephones were, halted and whirled round. “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

“I asked Mr. Wade to marry me. He refused. He is still refusing.”

Mrs. Richmond, hand on the knob, seemed to give careful thought to each of these three highly significant little sentences. Her comment was even more compressed; she laughed harshly.

“I saw that he was an unusually clever, experienced man.”

Beatrice looked quickly at her mother with shrewd, inquiring eyes. “You think he’s afraid father will cut me off?”

“Of course that’s it.”

“I wonder?” said the girl thoughtfully. “I hope so—yet I’m afraid.”

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