Her Prairie Knight by B. M. Bower (e reader comics txt) 📗

her pillow, she heard someone rap softly, but none the less imperatively, on her door. She opened one eye stealthily, to see her mother's pudgy form outlined in the feeble moonlight.

“Beatrice, are you asleep?”

Beatrice did not say yes, but she let her breath out carefully in a slumbrous sigh. It certainly sounded as if she were asleep.

“Be-atrice!” The tone, though guarded, was insistent.

The head of Beatrice moved slightly, and settled back into its little nest, for all the world like a dreaming, innocent baby.

If she had not been the mother of Beatrice, Mrs. Lansell would probably have gone back to her room, and continued to bide her time; but the mother of Beatrice had learned a few things about the ways of a wilful girl. She went in, and closed the door carefully behind her. She did not wish to keep the whole house awake. Then she went straight to the bed, laid hand upon a white shoulder that gleamed in the moonlight, and gave a shake.

“Beatrice, I want you to answer me when I speak.”

“M-m—did you—m-m—speak, mama?” Beatrice opened her eyes and closed them, opened them again for a minute longer, yawned daintily, and by these signs and tokens wandered back from dreamland obediently.

Her mother sat down upon the edge of the bed, and the bed creaked. Also, Beatrice groaned inwardly; the time of reckoning was verily drawing near. She promptly closed her eyes again, and gave a sleepy sigh.

“Beatrice, did you refuse Sir Redmond again?”

“M-m—were you speaking—mama?”

Mrs. Lansell, endeavoring to keep her temper, repeated the question.

Beatrice began to feel that she was an abused girl. She lifted herself to her elbow, and thumped the pillow spitefully.

“Again? Dear me, mama! I've never refused him once!”

“You haven't accepted him once, either,” her mother retorted; and Beatrice lay down again.

“I do wish, Beatrice, you would look at the matter in a sensible light I'm sure I never would ask you to marry a man you could not care for. But Sir Redmond is young, and good-looking, and has birth and breeding, and money—no one can accuse him of being a fortune-hunter, I'm sure. I was asking Richard to-day, and he says Sir Redmond holds a large interest in the Northern Pool, and other English investors pay him a salary, besides, to look after their interests. I wouldn't be surprised if the holdings of both of you would be sufficient to control the business.”

Beatrice, not caring anything for business anyway, said nothing.

“Any one can see the man's crazy for you. His sister says he never cared for a woman before in his life.”

“Of course,” put in Beatrice sarcastically. “His sister followed him down to South Africa, and all around, and is in a position to know.”

“Any one can see he isn't a lady's man.”

“No—” Beatrice smiled reminiscently; “he certainly isn't.”

“And so he's in deadly earnest. And I'm positive he will make you a model husband.”

“Only think of having to live, all one's life, with a model husband!” shuddered Beatrice hypocritically.

“Be-atrice! And then, it's something to marry a title.”

“That's the worst of it,” remarked Beatrice.

“Any other girl in America would jump at the chance. I do believe, Beatrice, you are hanging back just to be aggravating. And there's another thing, Beatrice. I don't approve of the way this Keith Cameron hangs around you.”

“He doesn't!” denied Beatrice, in an altogether different tone. “Why, mama!”

“I don't approve of flirting, Beatrice, and you know it. The way you gadded around over the hills with him—a perfect stranger—was disgraceful; perfectly disgraceful. You don't know any thing about the fellow, whether he's a fit companion or not—a wild, uncouth cowboy—”

“He graduated from Yale, a year after Dick. And he was halfback, too.”

“That doesn't signify,” said her mother, “a particle. I know Miss Hayes was dreadfully shocked to see you come riding up with him, and Sir Redmond forced to go with Richard, or ride alone.”

“Dick is good company,” said Beatrice. “And it was his own fault. I asked him to go with us, when Dick and I left the cattle, and he wouldn't. Dick will tell you the same. And after that I did not see him until just before we—I came home, Really, mama, I can't have a leading-string on Sir Redmond. If he refuses to come with me, I can hardly insist.”

“Well, you must have done something. You said something, or did something, to make him very angry. He has not been himself all day. What did you say?”

“Dear me, mama, I am not responsible for all Sir Redmond's ill-humor.”

“I did not ask you that, Beatrice.”

Beatrice thumped her pillow again. “I don't remember anything very dreadful, mama. I—I think he has indigestion.”

“Be-atrice! I do wish you would try to conquer that habit of flippancy. It is not ladylike. And I warn you, Sir Redmond is not the man to dangle after you forever. He will lose patience, and go back to England without you—and serve you right! I am only talking for your own good, Beatrice. I am not at all sure that you want him to leave you alone.”

Beatrice was not at all sure, either. She lay still, and wished her mother would stop talking for her good. Talking for her good had meant, as far back as Beatrice could remember, saying disagreeable things in a disagreeable manner.

“And remember, Beatrice, I want this flirting stopped.”

“Flirting, mama?” To hear the girl, you would think she had never heard the word before.

“That's what I said, Beatrice. I shall speak to Richard in the morning about this fellow Cameron. He must put a stop to his being here two-thirds of the time. It is unendurable.”

“He and Dick are chums, mama, and have been for years. And to-morrow we are going to Lost Canyon, you know, and Mr. Cameron is to go along. And there are several other trips, mama, to which he is already invited. Dick cannot recall those invitations.”

“Well, it must end there. Richard must do something. I cannot see what he finds about the fellow to like—or you, either, Beatrice. Just because he rides like a—a wild Indian, and has a certain daredevil way—”

“I never said I liked him, mama,” Beatrice protested, somewhat hastily. “I—of course, I try to treat him well—”

“I should say you did!” exploded her mother angrily. “You would be much better employed in trying to treat Sir Redmond half as well. It is positively disgraceful, the