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 it?” he mused aloud.  Mary Virginia’s lips curled.

“I do not follow you,” she said coldly.  “I am not even sure you have the letters—­that is why I am here.  I must see them with my own eyes before I agree to pay for them.  That is what you expect me to do, is it not?”

“Oh, I have them all right—­that is very easily proven,” said he, unruffled.  “Now listen carefully, please, while I explain the real reason for your presence here this afternoon.  Mr. Inglesby, for reasons of his own, desires to don the senatorial toga; why not?  Also, even more vehemently, Mr. Inglesby desires to lead to the altar Miss Mary Virginia Eustis:  yourself, dear lady, your charming self:  again, why not?  Who can blame him for so natural and laudable an ambition?

“As to his ever persuading you to become Mrs. Inglesby, without some—­ah—­moral suasion, why, you know what his chance would be better than I do.  As to his persuading the state to send him to Washington, it would have been a certainty, a sure thing, if our zealous young friend Mayne hadn’t egged your father into the game.  How Mayne managed that, heaven knows, particularly with your father’s affairs in the condition they are.  Now, Eustis is a fine man.  Far too fine to be lost in the shuffle at Washington, where he’d be a condemned nuisance—­just as he sometimes is here at home.  Do you begin to comprehend?”

“Why, no,” said she, blankly.  “And I certainly fail to see where my silly letters—­”

“Let me make it plainer.  You and your silly letters put the game into Mr. Inglesby’s hands, swing the balance in his favor. You pay me?  Heavens, no! We pay you—­and a thumping price at that!”

For a long moment they looked at each other.

“My dear Miss Eustis,” he put the tips of his fine fingers together, bent forward over them, and favored her with a white-toothed smile, “behold in me Mr. Inglesby’s ambassador—­the advocate of Cupid.  Plainly, I am authorized to offer you Mr. Inglesby’s heart, his hand, and—­his check-book.  Let us suppose you agree to accept—­no, don’t interrupt me yet, please.  And keep your seat, Miss Eustis.  You may smile, but I would advise you to consider very seriously what I am about to say to you, and to realize once for all that Mr.