to the bottom, where it rolled away and hid in the grass.
“I love this wide country,” she observed, abandoning her torture with a suddenness that was a characteristic of her nature. When Beatrice had made a man look and act the fool she was ready to stop; one cannot say that of every woman. “One can draw long, deep breaths without robbing one’s neighbor of oxygen. Everything is so big, and broad, and generous, out here. One can ride for miles and miles through the grandest, wildest places,—and—there aren’t any cigar and baking-powder and liver-pill signs plastered over the rocks, thank goodness! If man has traveled that way before, you do not have the evidence of his passing staring you in the face. You can make believe it is all your own—by right of discovery. I’m afraid your England would seem rather little and crowded after a month or two of this.” She swept her hand toward the river, and the grass-land beyond, and the mountains rimming the world.
“You should see the moors!” cried Sir Redmond, brightening under this peaceful mood of hers. “I fancy you would not find trouble in drawing long breaths there. Moor Cottage, where your sister and Wiltmar lived, is surrounded by wide stretches of open—not like this, to be sure, but not half-bad in its way, either.”
“Dolly grew to love that place, though she did write homesick letters at first. I was going over, after my coming out—and then came that awful accident, when she and Wiltmar were both drowned—and, of course, there was nothing to go for. I should have hated the place then, I think. But I should like—” Her voice trailed off dreamily, her eyes on the hazy Highwoods.
Sir Redmond watched her, his eyes a-shine; Beatrice in this mood was something to worship. He was almost afraid to speak, for fear she would snuff out the tiny flame of hope which her half-finished sentence had kindled. He leaned forward, his face eager.
“Beatrice, only say you will go—with me, dear!”
Beatrice started; for the moment she had forgotten him. Her eyes kept to the hills. “Go—to England? One trip at a time, Sir Redmond. I have been here only ten days, and we came for three months. Three months of freedom in this big, glorious place.”
“And then?” His voice was husky.
“And then—freckle lotions by the quart, I expect.”
Sir Redmond got upon his feet, and he was rather white around the mouth.
“We Englishmen are a stubborn lot, Miss Beatrice. We won’t stop fighting until we win.”
“We Yankees,” retorted she airily, “value our freedom above everything else. We won’t surrender it without fighting for it first.”
He caught eagerly at the lack of finality in her tones. “I don’t want to take your freedom, Beatrice. I only want the right to love you.”
“Oh, as for that, I suppose you may love me as much as you please—only so you don’t torment me to death talking about it.”
Beatrice, not looking particularly tormented, waved answer to Dick, who was shouting something up at her, and went blithely down the hill, with Sir Redmond following gloomily, several paces behind.
Chapter 4. Beatrice Learns a New Language
“D’you want to see the boys work a bunch of cattle, Trix?” Dick said to her, when she came down to where he was leaning against a high board fence, waiting for her.
“‘Deed I do, Dicky—only I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“The boys are going to cut out some cattle we’ve contracted to the government—for the Indians, you know. They’re holding the bunch over in Dry Coulee; it’s only three or four miles. I’ve got to go over and see the foreman, and I thought maybe you’d like to go along.”
“There’s nothing I can think of that I would like better. Won’t it be fine, Sir Redmond?”
Sir Redmond did not say whether he thought it would be fine or not. He still had the white streak around his mouth, and he went through the gate and on to the house without a word—which was undoubtedly a rude thing to do. Sir Redmond was not often rude. Dick watched him speculatively until he was beyond hearing them. Then, “What have you done to milord, Trix?” he wanted to know.
“Nothing,” said Beatrice.
“Well,” Dick said, with decision, “he looks to me like a man that has been turned down—hard. I can tell by the back of his neck.”
This struck Beatrice, and she began to study the retreating neck of her suitor. “I can’t see any difference,” she announced, after a brief scrutiny.
“It’s rather sunburned and thick.”
“I’ll gamble his mind is a jumble of good English oaths—with maybe a sprinkling of Boer maledictions. What did you do?”
“Nothing—unless, perhaps, he objects to being disciplined a bit. But I also object to being badgered into matrimony—even with Sir Redmond.”
“Even with Sir Redmond!” Dick whistled. “He’s ‘It,’ then, is he?”
Beatrice had nothing to say. She walked beside Dick and looked at the ground before her.
“He doesn’t seem a bad sort, sis, and the title will be nice to have in the family, if one cares for such things. Mother does. She was disappointed, I take it, that Wiltmar was a younger son.”
“Yes, she was. She used to think that Sir Redmond might get killed down there fighting the Boers, and then Wiltmar would be next in line. But he didn’t, and it was Wiltmar who went first. And now oh, it’s humiliating, Dick! To be thrown at a man’s head—” Tears were not far from her voice just then.
“I can see she wants you to nab the title. Well, sis, if you don’t care for the man—”
“I never said I didn’t care for him. But I just can’t treat him decently, with mama dinning that title in my ears day and night. I wish there wasn’t any title. Oh, it’s abominable! Things have come to that point where an American girl with money is not supposed to care for an Englishman, no matter how nice he may be, if he has a title, or the prospect of one. Every one laughs and thinks it’s the title she wants; they’d think it of me, and they’d say it. They would say Beatrice Lansell took her half-million and bought her a lord. And, after a while, perhaps Sir Redmond himself would half-believe it—and I couldn’t bear that! And so I am—unbearably flippant and—I should think he’d hate me!”
“So you reversed the natural order of things, and refused him on account of the title?” Dick grinned surreptitiously.
“No, I didn’t—not quite. I’m afraid he’s dreadfully angry with me, though. I do wish he wasn’t such a dear.”
“You’re the same old Trix. You’ve got to be held back from the trail you’re supposed to take, or you won’t travel it; you’ll bolt the other way. If everybody got together and fought the notion, you would probably elope with milord inside a week. Mother means well, but she isn’t on to her job a little bit. She ought to turn up her nose at the title.”
“No fear
