"
"Dear me, Richard! Beatrice is not a charwoman!" This, you will
understand, was from his mother; perhaps you will also understand that
she spoke with the rising inflection which conveys a reproof.
When Keith Cameron left them he was laughing quietly to himself, and
Beatrice's chin was set rather more than usual.
CHAPTER 3
A Tilt With Sir Redmond.
Beatrice, standing on the top of a steep, grassy slope, was engaged in
the conventional pastime of enjoying the view. It was a fine view, but
it was not half as good to look upon as was Beatrice herself, in her
fresh white waist and brown skirt, with her brown hair fluffing softly
in the breeze which would grow to a respectable wind later in the day,
and with her cheeks pink from climbing.
She was up where she could see the river, a broad band of blue in the
surrounding green, winding away for miles through the hills. The far
bank stood a straight two hundred feet of gay-colored rock, chiseled, by
time and stress of changeful weather, into fanciful turrets and towers.
Above and beyond, where the green began, hundreds of moving dots told
where the cattle were feeding quietly. Far away to the south, heaps of
hazy blue and purple slept in the sunshine; Dick had told her those were
the Highwoods. And away to the west, a jagged line of blue-white
glimmered and stood upon tip-toes to touch the swimming clouds--touched
them and pushed above proudly; those were the Rockies.
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