“And young Colfax ain’t precisely a pauper,” said Miss Crane.

“I’ll risk a good deal that she don’t marry Colfax,” said Mr. Hopper.

“What on earth do you mean?” cried Mrs. Abner.  It ain’t broke off?”

“No,” he answered, “it ain’t broke off.  But I callate she won’t have him when the time comes.  She’s got too much sense.”

Heavy at heart, Stephen climbed the stairs, thanking heaven that he had not been drawn into the controversy.  A partial comprehension of Mr. Hopper was dawning upon him.  He suspected that gentleman of an aggressive determination to achieve wealth, and the power which comes with it, for the purpose of using that power upon those beneath him.  Nay, when he thought over his conversation, he suspected him of more,—­of the intention to marry Virginia Carvel.

It will be seen whether Stephen was right or wrong.

He took a walk that afternoon, as far out as a place called Lindell’s Grove, which afterward became historic.  And when he returned to the house, his mother handed him a, little white envelope.

“It came while you were out,” she said.

He turned it over, and stared at his name written across the front in a feminine hand In those days young ladies did not write in the bold and masculine manner now deemed proper.  Stephen stared at the note, manlike, and pondered.

“Who brought it, mother?”

“Why don’t you open it, and see?” asked his mother with a smile.

He took the suggestion.  What a funny formal little note we should think it now!  It was not funny to Stephen—­then.  He read it, and he read it again, and finally he walked over to the window, still holding it in his hand.

Some mothers would have shown their curiosity.  Mrs. Brice did not, wherein she proved herself their superiors in the knowledge of mankind.

Stephen stood for a long while looking out into the gathering dusk.  Then he went over to the fireplace and began tearing the note into little bits.  Only once did he pause, to look again at his name on the envelope.

“It is an invitation to Miss Carvel’s party,” he said.

By Thursday of that week the Brices, with thanksgiving in their hearts, had taken possession of Mr. Brinsmade’s little house.

CHAPTER XII

“Miss Jinny”

The years have sped indeed since that gray December when Miss Virginia Carvel became eighteen.  Old St. Louis has changed from a pleasant Southern town to a bustling city, and a high building stands on the site of that wide and hospitable home of Colonel Carvel.  And the Colonel’s thoughts that morning, as Ned shaved him, flew back through the years to a gently rolling Kentucky countryside, and a pillared white house among the oaks.  He was riding again with Beatrice Colfax in the springtime.  Again he stretched out his arm as if to seize her bridle-hand, and he felt the thoroughbred rear.  Then the vision faded, and the memory of his dead wife became an angel’s face, far—­so far away.