by." And he
leaned back in his chair, perfectly self-possessed, entirely at his
ease, and waited for her to speak.

"You could do that--anybody could do that--to my father?" she was
only half-convinced.

"I assure you we can send him under--with a lot of other men's money
tied around his neck to keep him down."

"But even you would hesitate to do a thing like that!"

"All is fair," said Hunter, "in love and war."

"_Fair_?"

"Legitimate, then."

"But if he is in Mr. Inglesby's way and in his power at the same time,
why not remove him in the ordinary course of business? Why drag in me
and my letters?"

"Why? Because it's the letters that enable us to reach _you_. My dear
girl, Mr. Inglesby doesn't really give a hang whether Eustis sinks or
swims. He'd as lief back him as not, for in the long run it's good
business to back a winner. But it's _you_ he's playing for, and on
that count all is fish that comes to his net. _Now_ do you begin to
see?"

Mary Virginia began to see. She looked at the unruffled man before her
a bit wonderingly.

"And what do _you_ get out of this?" she asked, unexpectedly. "Mr.
Inglesby is to get me, I am to get his money and a package of letters,
my father is to get time to save himself; well then, what do _you_
get? The pleasure of doing something wrong? Revenge?"

But Hunter looked at her with cold astonishment. "You surprise me," he
said. "You talk as if you'd been going to see too many of those
insufferable screen-plays that make the proletariat sniffle and the
intelligent swear. I am merely a business man, Miss Eustis, and
attending to this particular affair for my employer is all in the
course of the day's work. I--er--am not in a position to refuse to
obey orders or to be captious, particularly since Mr. Inglesby has
agreed to double my present salary. That in itself is no light
inducement--but I get more. I get Mr. Inglesby's personal backing,
which means an assured future to me; as it will mean to you and your
father, if you have got the sense you were born with. This is
business. Kindly omit melodrama--crude, and not at all your style,
really," he finished, critically.

"This is nothing short of villainy. And not at all too crude for
_your_ style," said Mary Virginia.

He laughed good-humoredly. "Bad temper is vastly becoming to you," he
told her. "It gives you a magnificent color."

And at that Mary Virginia looked at him with eyes in which the shadow
of fear was dee