“May I have the pleasure,” said that gentleman, “of accompanying you home?”

Eugenie giggled, Virginia was more annoyed than she showed.

“You must not come out of your way,” she said.  Then she added.  “I am sure you must go back to the store.  It is only six o’clock.”

Had Virginia but known, this occasional tartness in her speech gave Eliphalet an infinite delight, even while it hurt him.  His was a nature which liked to gloat over a goal on the horizon He cared not a whit for sweet girls; they cloyed.  But a real lady was something to attain.  He had revised his vocabulary for just such an occasion, and thrown out some of the vernacular.

“Business is not so pressing nowadays, Miss Carvel,” he answered, with a shade of meaning.

“Then existence must be rather heavy for you,” she said.  She made no attempt to introduce him to Eugenie.  “If we should have any more victories like Bull Run, prosperity will come back with a rush,” said the son of Massachusetts.  “Southern Confederacy, with Missouri one of its stars an industrial development of the South—­fortunes in cotton”

Virginia turned quickly, “Oh, how dare you?” she cried.  “How dare you speak flippantly of such things?” His suavity was far from overthrown.

“Flippantly Miss Carvel?” said he.  “I assure you that I want to see the South win.”  What he did not know was that words seldom convince women.  But he added something which reduced her incredulity for the time.  “Do you cal’late,” said he,—­that I could work for your father, and wish ruin to his country?”

“But you are a Yankee born,” she exclaimed.

“There be a few sane Yankees,” replied Mr. Hopper, dryly.  A remark which made Eugenie laugh outright, and Virginia could not refrain from a smile.

But much against her will he walked home with her.  She was indignant by the time she reached Locust Street.  He had never dared do such a thing before, What had got into the man?  Was it because he had become a manager, and governed the business during her father’s frequent absences?  No matter what Mr. Hopper’s politics, he would always be to her a low-born Yankee, a person wholly unworthy of notice.

At the corner of Olive Street, a young man walking with long strides almost bumped into them.  He paused looked back, and bowed as if uncertain of an acknowledgment.  Virginia barely returned his bow.  He had been very close to her, and she had had time to notice that his coat was threadbare.  When she looked again, he had covered half the block.  Why should she care if Stephen Brice had seen her in company with Mr, Hopper?  Eliphalet, too, had seen Stephen, and this had added zest to his enjoyment.  It was part of the fruits of his reward.  He wished in that short walk that he might meet Mr. Cluyme and Belle, and every man and woman and child in the city whom he knew.  From time to time he glanced at the severe profile of the aristocrat beside him (he had to look up a bit, likewise), and that look set him down among the beasts of prey.  For she was his rightful prey, and he meant not to lose one tittle of enjoyment in the progress of the game.  Many and many a night in the bare little back room at Miss Crane’s, Eliphalet had gloated over the very event which was now come to pass.  Not a step of the way but what he had lived through before.