rang in her
astonished ears with a sort of hateful familiarity.

A glance at her face made him smile. "I wonder," he questioned, "if
you have changed, dear puritan? You are engaged to Mayne now, I hear.
Very clever chap, Mayne. The moving power behind your father, I
understand. And engaged to you! You're so intense and interesting when
you're in love that one is tempted to envy Mayne. Do you write _him_
letters, too?"

Mary Virginia's level eyes regarded him with haughty surprise. The
situation was rather unbelievable.

"Miss Eustis--" he paused to bow and smile to some passing girls who
plainly envied Mary Virginia, "Miss Eustis, you must come to my
office, say to-morrow afternoon. We must have a heart-to-heart talk. I
have something you will find it to your interest to discuss with me."

She disdained to reply, to ask him to leave her; her attitude did not
even suggest that he should explain himself. Seeming to be perfectly
content with this attitude, he sauntered along beside her.

"Do you know," he smiled, "that with you the art of writing genuine
love-letters amounts to a gift? I am sure your father--and let's say
Mayne--would be astonished and delighted to read the ones I have. They
are unequaled. Human documents, heart-interest, delicate and piquant
sex-tang--the very sort of thing the dear public devours. I told you
once they meant a great deal to me, remember? They're going to mean
more. Come about four, please." He lifted his hat, bowed, and was
gone.

Mary Virginia went to his office at four o'clock the next afternoon,
as he had planned she should. She wanted to know exactly what he
meant, and she fancied he meant to make her buy back the letters he
claimed not to have destroyed. The bare idea of anybody on earth
reading those insane vaporings sickened her.

Hunter's manner subtly allowed her to understand that he had known she
would come, and this angered her inexpressibly; it gave him an
advantage.

"Instead of wasting time in idle persiflage," he said when he had
handed her a chair, "let's get right down to brass tacks. You
naturally desire to know why I kept your letters? For one reason,
because they are a bit of real literature. However, I propose to
return them now--for a consideration."

He leaned forward, idly drumming on the polished desk, and regarded
her with a sort of impersonal speculation. A little smile crept to his
lip.

"The whirligig of time does bring in its revenges, doesn't