Mr. Cameron bought it when he left college and went into the cattle business. He 'plays a lone hand,' as he calls it; but his cattle range with the Northern Pool, and he and **** work together a great deal. Ithink he has lovely eyes, don't you?" The eyes of Beatrice were intent upon the Bear Paws when she said it--which brought her shoulder toward Sir Redmond and hid her face from him.
"I can't say I ever observed Mr. Cameron's eyes," said Sir Redmond stiffly.
Beatrice turned back to him, and smiled demurely. When Beatrice smiled that very demure smile, of which she was capable, the weather-wise generally edged toward their cyclone-cellars. Sir Redmond was not weather-wise--he was too much in love with her--and he did not possess a cyclone cellar; he therefore suffered much at the hands of Beatrice.
"But surely you must have noticed that deep, deep dimple in his chin?"she questioned innocently. Keith Cameron, I may say, did not have a dimple in his chin at all; there was, however, a deep crease in it.
"I did not." Sir Redmond rubbed his own chin, which was so far from dimpling that is was rounded like half an apricot.
"Dear me! And you sat opposite to him at dinner yesterday, too! Isuppose, then, you did not observe that his teeth are the whitest, evenest.""They make them cheaply over here, I'm told," he retorted, setting his heel emphatically down and annihilating a red and black caterpillar.
"Now, why did you do that? I must say you English are rather brutal?""I can't abide worms.""Well, neither can I. And I think it would be foolish to quarrel about a man's good looks," Beatrice said, with surprising sweetness.
Sir Redmond hunched his shoulders and retreated to the comfort of his pipe. "A bally lot of good looks!" he sneered. "A woman is never convinced, though.""I am." Beatrice sat down upon a rock and rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands--and an adorable picture she made, I assure you. "I'm thoroughly convinced of several things. One is Mr. Cameron's good looks; another is that you're cross."Oh, come, now!" protested Sir Redmond feebly, and sucked furiously at his pipe.
"Yes," reiterated Beatrice, examining his perturbed face judicially;"you are downright ugly."The face of Sir Redmond grew redder and more perturbed; just as Beatrice meant that it should; she seemed to derive a keen pleasure from goading this big, good-looking Englishman to the verge of apoplexy.
"I'm sure I never meant to be rude; but a fellow can't fall down and worship every young farmer, don't you know--not even to please you!"Beatrice smiled and threw a pebble down the slope, watching it bound and skip 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 ******* 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 ******* 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 *******, 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 ****, who was shouting something up at her, and went blithely down the hill, with Sir Redmond following gloomily, several paces behind.
