“Talking very idly.  I have assured you that I never will touch it.  And if you want more, here I swear it!”

“Hush! hush!”

“It’s done!” said Eloise, exultantly, and almost restored to good-humor by the little triumph.

“And you won’t reconsider? you won’t break it? you will not let me beg you”—­

“Never!  If that is all you had to say, I shall bid you good-morning.”

Mr. St. George was silent for a moment or two.

“I am greatly grieved,” said he then.  “I have done an evil thing unconsciously enough, and one for which there is no remedy, it seems.  Until you mentioned your name last night, I was innocent of your existence.  I had, indeed, originally heard of my cousin’s educating some child, but our intercourse was so fragmentary that it made no impression upon me.  I had entirely forgotten that there was such a person in the world, ungallant as it sounds.  Afterwards,—­last night, this morning,—­I was so selfish as to imagine that we could each of us be very happy upon the half of such a property, until, at least, my affairs should right themselves.  I was wrong.  Whatever legal steps have been taken shall be recalled, and I leave you in full possession to-day and forever.  ’The King sall ha’ his ain again.’”

“Folderol!” said Eloise, turning her shoulder.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You may go where you please, and let all The Rim do the same,—­go to dust and ashes, if it will!  As for me, my hands are washed of it; if it isn’t mine, I will not have it.  Now let the thing rest!  Besides, Sir,” said Eloise, with a more gracious air, and forgetting her wicked temper, “you don’t know the relief I feel! how free I am! no more figures! such a sad weight off me that I could fly!  You would be silly to be such a Don Quixote as you threaten; it would do nobody any good, and would prove the ruin of all these poor creatures for whom you are now responsible.  Don’t you see?” said Eloise, taking a step nearer, and positively smiling upon him.  “It isn’t now just as you like,—­you have a duty in the case.  And as for me, good morning!”

And Eloise actually offered him her hand.

“One moment.  Let me think.”

And after her white flag of truce, there came a short cessation of hostilities.

“Very well,” said Mr. St. George Erne at last, looking up, and shaking his strong shoulders like a Newfoundland dog coming out of the water.  “Let it be.  I have, then, one other idea,—­in fact, one other condition.  If I yield one thing, it is only right that you should yield another.  It is this.  I am entirely unaccustomed to doing my own writing.  My script is illegible, even to myself.  My amanuenses, my copyists, in Washington, have cost me a mint of money.  I find there are none of the servants, of course, who write their names.  I cannot afford, either, at present, to buy a clerk from Charleston.  And on the whole, if it would be agreeable to you, I should be very glad if you would accept a salary,—­such salary as I find convenient,—­and remain as my accountant.  You will, perhaps, receive this proposal with the more ease, as Mrs. Arles agrees to occupy the same position as formerly in the house.”