ys, and Keith Cameron held himself aloof during the rest of the
trip, which should have contented Sir Redmond.

CHAPTER 8. Dorman Plays Cupid.

Dorman toiled up the steps, his straw hat perilously near to slipping
down his back, his face like a large, red beet, and his hands vainly
trying to reach around a baking-powder can which the Chinaman cook had
given him.

He marched straight to where Beatrice was lying in the hammock. If she
had been older, or younger, or a plain young woman, one might say that
Beatrice was sulking in the hammock, for she had not spoken anything but
"yes" and "no" to her mother for an hour, and she had only spoken
those two words occasionally, when duty demanded it. For one thing,
Sir Redmond was absent, and had been for two weeks, and Beatrice was
beginning to miss him dreadfully. To beguile the time, she had ridden,
every day, long miles into the hills. Three times she had met Keith
Cameron, also riding alone in the hills, and she had endeavored to amuse
herself with him, after her own inimitable fashion, and with more or
less success. The trouble was, that sometimes Keith seemed to be amusing
himself with her, which was not pleasing to a girl like Beatrice. At any
rate, he proved himself quite able to play the game of Give and Take,
so that the conscience of Beatrice was at ease; no one could call her
pastime a slaughter of the innocents, surely, when the fellow stood his
ground like that. It was more a fencing-bout, and Beatrice enjoyed it
very much; she told herself that the reason she enjoyed talking with
Keith was because he was not always getting hurt, like Sir Redmond--or,
if he did, he kept his feelings to himself, and went boldly on with
the game. Item: Beatrice had reversed her decision that Keith was
vain, though she still felt tempted, at times, to resort to "making
faces"--when she was worsted, that was.

To return to this particular day of sulking; Rex had cast a shoe, and
lamed himself just enough to prevent her riding, and so Beatrice was
having a dull day of it in the house. Besides, her mother had just
finished talking to her for her good, which was enough to send an angel
into the sulks--and Beatrice lacked a good deal of being an angel.

Dorman laid his baking-powder can confidingly in his divinity's lap.
"Be'trice, I did get some grasshoppers; you said I couldn't. And
you wouldn't go fishin', 'cause you didn't like to take Uncle Dick's
make-m'lieve flies, so I g