e he
is nothing but the dupe of Jefferson, but he is a terrible menace, all
the same."

The girls saw him, and leaping from the fence ran to the house, followed
more leisurely by Morris.

"You are loitering," exclaimed Angelica, triumphantly, as she entered
the room without ceremony, followed by Theodosia. "And when you loiter
you belong to me."

She had grown tall, and was extremely thin and nervous, moving
incessantly. But her face, whether stormy, dreamy, or animated with the
pleasure of the moment, was very beautiful. Theodosia Burr was a
handsome intellectual girl, with a massive repose; and the two were much
in harmony.

"If I snatch a moment to breathe," Hamilton was beginning, when he
suddenly caught two right hands and spread them open.

"What on earth does this mean?" he demanded. The little paws of the two
most fastidious girls he knew were dyed with ink. Both blushed vividly,
but Angelica flung back her head with her father's own action.

"We are writing a novel," she said.

"You are doing what?" gasped Hamilton.

"Yes, sir. All the girls in New York are. Why shouldn't we? I guess we
inherit brains enough."

"All the girls in New York are writing novels!" exclaimed Hamilton. "Is
this the next result of Jacobinism and unbridled liberty, the next
development of the new Americanism as expounded by Thomas Jefferson?
Good God! What next?"

"You have the prophetic eye," said Morris, who was seated on the edge of
the table, grinning sardonically. (He was bald now, and looked more
wicked than ever.) "What of woman in the future?"

"She has given me sufficient occupation in the present," replied
Hamilton, drily. "Heaven preserve me from the terrors of anticipation."
"Well, finish your novel. If you confine your pens to those subjects of
which you know nothing, you will enjoy yourselves; and happiness should
be sought in all legitimate channels. But as a favour to me, keep your
hands clean."

The girls retired with some hauteur, and Morris said impatiently:--

"I thought I had left that sort of thing behind me in France, where
Madame de Stael drove me mad. I return to find all the prettiest women
running to lectures on subjects which they never can understand, and
scarifying the men's nerves with pedantic allusions. I always believed
that our women were the brightest on the planet, but that they should
ever have the bad taste to become intellectual--well, I have known but
one woman who could do it su