“What a blessed provision for letting off steam,” he thought, with some envy.  “I would I had Burr in front of my fists this moment.  I suppose he is nothing but the dupe of Jefferson, but he is a terrible menace, all the same.”

The girls saw him, and leaping from the fence ran to the house, followed more leisurely by Morris.

“You are loitering,” exclaimed Angelica, triumphantly, as she entered the room without ceremony, followed by Theodosia.  “And when you loiter you belong to me.”

She had grown tall, and was extremely thin and nervous, moving incessantly.  But her face, whether stormy, dreamy, or animated with the pleasure of the moment, was very beautiful.  Theodosia Burr was a handsome intellectual girl, with a massive repose; and the two were much in harmony.

“If I snatch a moment to breathe,” Hamilton was beginning, when he suddenly caught two right hands and spread them open.

“What on earth does this mean?” he demanded.  The little paws of the two most fastidious girls he knew were dyed with ink.  Both blushed vividly, but Angelica flung back her head with her father’s own action.

“We are writing a novel,” she said.

“You are doing what?” gasped Hamilton.

“Yes, sir.  All the girls in New York are.  Why shouldn’t we?  I guess we inherit brains enough.”

“All the girls in New York are writing novels!” exclaimed Hamilton.  “Is this the next result of Jacobinism and unbridled liberty, the next development of the new Americanism as expounded by Thomas Jefferson?  Good God!  What next?”

“You have the prophetic eye,” said Morris, who was seated on the edge of the table, grinning sardonically. (He was bald now, and looked more wicked than ever.) “What of woman in the future?”

“She has given me sufficient occupation in the present,” replied Hamilton, drily.  “Heaven preserve me from the terrors of anticipation.”  “Well, finish your novel.  If you confine your pens to those subjects of which you know nothing, you will enjoy yourselves; and happiness should be sought in all legitimate channels.  But as a favour to me, keep your hands clean.”

The girls retired with some hauteur, and Morris said impatiently:—­

“I thought I had left that sort of thing behind me in France, where Madame de Stael drove me mad.  I return to find all the prettiest women running to lectures on subjects which they never can understand, and scarifying the men’s nerves with pedantic allusions.  I always believed that our women were the brightest on the planet, but that they should ever have the bad taste to become intellectual—­well, I have known but one woman who could do it successfully, and that is Mrs. Croix.  What has she to do with this sudden activity of Burr’s?  Is he handling French money?”

“Are you convinced that she is a French spy?”