“Of course not!” said Hewson, with a note of indignation. “It was true. Besides it wouldn’t have been of any use.” “No, it would have been wicked and it would have been useless. And then what did he say?” “Nothing.” “Nothing? And you have never heard another word from him?” “Yes, he came to see me last night.” “Here in New York? Is he here yet?” “I suppose so.” “Where?” “I believe at the Overpark.” Miss Hernshaw caught her breath, as if she were going to speak, but she did not say anything. “Why do you insist upon all this, Miss Hernshaw?” he entreated. “It can do you no good to follow the matter up!” “Do you think I want to do myself _good?_” she returned. “I want to do myself _harm!_ What did he say when he came to see you?” “Well, you can imagine,” said Hewson, not able to keep out of his tone the lingering disgust he felt for St. John. “He complained?” “He all but shed tears,” said Hewson, recalled to a humorous sense of St. John’s behavior. “I felt sorry for him; though,” he added, darkly, “I can’t say that I do now.” Miss Hernshaw didn’t seek to fathom the mystery of his closing words. “Had he been actually inconvenienced by that thing in the paper?” “Yes--somewhat.” “How much?” “Oh,” Hewson groaned. “If you must know--” “I must! The worst!” “It had fairly turned him out of house and home. His servants had all left him, and he had been reduced to taking his meals at the inn. He showed me a handful of letters from people whom he had asked to visit him, withdrawing their acceptances, or making excuses for not accepting.” “Ah!” said Miss Hernshaw, with a deep, inward breath, as if this now were indeed something like the punishment she had expected. “And will it--did he think--did he say anything about the pecuniary effect--the--whether it would hurt the property?” “He seemed to think it would,” answered Hewson, reluctantly, and he added, unfortunately for his generous purpose, “I really can’t enter upon that part.” She arched her eyebrows in grieved surprise. “But that is the very part that I want you to enter upon Mr. Hewson. You _must_ tell me, now! Did he say that it had injured the property very much?” “He did, but--” “But what?” “I think St. John is a man to put the worst face on that matter.” “You are saying that to keep me from feeling badly. But I ought to feel badly--I _wish_ to feel badly. I suppose he said that it wasn’t worth anything now.” “Something of that sort,” Hewson helplessly admitted. “Very well, then, I will buy it for whatever he chooses to ask!” With the precipitation which characterized all her actions, Miss Hernshaw rose from the chair in which she had been provisionally sitting, pushed an electric button in the wall, swirled away to the other side of the room, unlocked the door behind which those sounds had subsided, and flinging it open, said, “You can come out, Mrs. Hock; I’ve rung for breakfast.”