“I dare say you’d keep a tight hand enough on expenses,” said Miss Crane, half in sarcasm, half in approval.

“If Colonel Carvel was doin’ business in New England,” said Eliphalet, “he’d been bankrupt long ago.”

“That young Clarence Colfax,” Mrs. Abner Reed broke in, “he’ll get a right smart mint o’ money when he marries Virginia.  They do say her mother left her independent.  How now, Mr. Hopper?”

Eliphalet looked mysterious and knowing.  He did not reply.

“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”