“Good morning, Miss Changarnier,” said he.  “May I speak with you a moment?”

“Very briefly,” said Eloise, loftily, for she was in an entirely different mood from that in which she had left him the night before.

The corner of a smile curled Mr. St. George Erne’s mouth and the brown moustache above it.  Eloise saw it, and was an inch taller.  Then St. George did not smile again, but was quite as regnantly cool and distant as the Khan of Tartary could be.

“I glanced at the papers to which you referred me last evening,” said he.  “As you intimated, I perceive the snarl is hopeless.  Were it for nothing else,” he added, casting down the orbs that had just now too tremulous a light in them, “I should ask you to remain and assist me in unravelling affairs, for a few days.  I intend, so soon as the way shall be clear, to set off half of the estate to you”—­

“Sir, I do not accept gifts from strangers.  I will be under no obligations.  I hope to earn my own livelihood.  The estate is yours; I will not receive a penny of it!”

“Pardon me, if I say that this is a rash and ill-considered statement.  There is no reason why you should be unwilling, in the first place, to see justice done, and, after that, to respect your Adopted father’s wish.”

“My father could have wished nothing dishonest.  He is best pleased with me as I am.”

“Will it make any difference, if I assure you that the half of the estate under my plan of management will yield larger receipts than the whole of it did under your proprietorship?”

“Not the least,” said Eloise, with a scornful and incredulous smile.

“You make me very uncomfortable.  Let me beg you to take the matter into consideration.  After a few days of coolness, you will perhaps think otherwise.”

“After a thousand years I should think the same.  I do not want your money, Sir.  I thank you.  And so, good bye.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out into the world.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That is certainly no affair of yours.”

“How much money have you in that little purse?”

She poured its contents down where he had emptied his own purse on the previous evening, adding to those still remaining there some four or five small gold-pieces.

“Of course they are yours, Sir.  I have no right to them!”

He brushed them indignantly all down together in a heap upon the hearth.

“You sha’n’t have them, then!” said he, and ground them with his heel into the ashes.

“I can sell my mother’s jewels!” said she, defiantly.

“I can confiscate them for the balance of the half-year’s income of the estate!”

Eloise turned pale with pride and anger and fear and mastery.

“We are talking very idly,” said St. George, then, softening his falcon’s glance.  “Pray excuse such savage jesting.  I should like to share my grandfather’s estate with you, the adopted child of his elder grandson.  It looks fairly enough, I think.”