The pair of sable retainers went on with their conversation, totally unconscious of a listener, and when the interest connected with that subject had culminated, diverged to themes more intimately connected with their own affairs.

One of the chief desires of Dolf's soul was to find out exactly how much money Clorinda had in the bank, but he had never been able, with all his arts, to bring her to that degree of confidence necessary to make him a partner in that dearest secret of her life.

The other servants and her friends in the neighborhood gave very contradictory accounts concerning the amount, and Victoria openly avowed her belief that—

"De whole ting was just gammon—didn't b'lieve she had no money no whar—she know'd she was so old dat it was her only chance of ketchin' a beau, so she tried it on; dat was 'bout all it 'mounted to."

But Dolf was too wise to be influenced by Victoria's sneers, and had lately convinced himself that the sum was larger than he at first supposed. In that case Dolf felt the extreme folly of allowing a fancy for Victoria to stand in the way of his interest. Already he had incurred Clorinda's serious displeasure; it had required a vast amount of eloquence to reconcile matters after his indiscretion with the strange young woman at old Mother Hopkin's, besides, his flirtations with Victoria were a constant bone of contention between them.

Dolf felt certain that if he only came directly to the point and made Clorinda a bona fide offer of his hand with his heart in it, she would forgive him; but it required a good deal of resolution to make up his mind to that step.

Clorinda was not prepossessing in her appearance,—that her most partial friends would have been forced to admit; probably in her youth she might have had her attractions, but now that years, avarice, and a not very patient temper had worn their furrows in her face, it really required all the glitter of her reported wealth to make her endurable in Dolf's mercenary eyes.

Then her color and her frizzed locks, at which Victoria sneered so openly—that was a tender point with Dolf; he had the general contempt for the jetty hue which one is certain to find among those of the bronze complexion.

Dolf stood there looking at Clorinda and revolving all those things in his mind, while she washed her vegetables and made herself busy as possible at the kitchen dressers.

"Dis life is full of mysteriousness, Miss Clorindy," he said in a meditative tone.

Clorinda snipped off the tops from the carrots she was preparing for her soup, and assented.

"Dar ain't much wuth livin' for," she said gloomily.

Dolf was frightened at once; when Clo got into one of her desponding humors she became very religious without delay; and he trembled with fear that she would condemn him to Methodist hymns and a prayer-meeting that very night.

"Don't say dat, Miss Clorindy, now don't!" he exclaimed pathetically. "You's de light ob too many eyes for sich renumerations—you lights der hearts as de sun does de sky at noonday."

Clorinda relented; with all her firmness and numerous other grim virtues, she was a thorough woman at heart, and never could withstand flattery adroitly administered.

"Go 'long wid yer poety nonsense," said she, giving a coquettish toss to her head that made her gorgeous bandanna flutter as if suddenly electrified. "Go 'way wid sich, I say."

"Don't call it nonsense, sweet Miss Clorindy," urged Dolf; "when a gemman disposes de tenderest feelins' ob his bussom at yer feet, don't jist at 'em."

To be called by such endearing epithets in two consecutive sentences, softened Clorinda greatly; this time something uncommon must be coming—Dolf certainly was in earnest.

"I don't see nothin' at my feet," said she, with a little giggle.

"Yes, yer does, Miss Clorindy," pleaded Dolf; "yes, yer does—now don't deny it."

"La!" said Clorinda, in a delightful flurry, "you men is so confusin'."

"I don't mean ter be confusin', Miss Clorindy," said Dolf; "it's far from my wishes—leastways wid you."

There was a tender emphasis on the concluding pronoun which quite upset Clorinda. She allowed the carrots to fall back in the pan of water, and seated herself on a stool near by—if anything serious was coming she would receive it with dignity befitting the occasion.

Artful Dolf, profound in his knowledge of the sex, read her thoughts without the slightest difficulty, and chuckled inwardly at the idea that any female heart could resist his fascinations. Still he was in a condition of great perplexity; he had no intention of committing himself until he had learned the exact price Clorinda could pay for the sacrifice he was prepared to make of his youth and good looks. On the other hand, he was sorely puzzled how to obtain the desired information without laying his heart at her feet. All his craft in that direction had signally failed; in that respect Clorinda was astute enough to be fully his match.

But he must say something; Dolf could not afford to lose time in misunderstandings, particularly as he had lately discovered that the sable parson whose meetings she attended, was becoming seriously devoted in his attentions.

"Ah! Miss Clorindy," he said, "de sect is all resemblous in one particular."

"What do yer mean?" inquired Clo, and her voice softened in response to the tenderness in his.

"In yer cruelty," said Dolf, "yer cruelty, Miss Clorindy."

"Laws, nobody ebber sed I was cruel," returned the matter-of-fact Clo. "I wrings de necks ob de chickens and skin de eels alive, 'cause it's a cook's lookout, but I hasn't got a speck ob cruelty in me."

Dolf shook his head, then dropped it on one side with an air which he had found very effective in former flirtations.

"In course yer'll deny it—it's de way ob de sect, but de fact is dar."

"I don't know what yer mean," said Clorinda, beginning to resume a little of her usual rigidity; "if yer ain't a talkin' Spanish now, it's jist as bad."

"I alludes to de coquettations in which yer all indulge."

"I don't," said Clo; "I leaves all sich foolishnesses to silly things like dat Vic—I hasn't no patience wid 'em."

"Oh! Miss Clorindy, Miss Clorindy!"

"Dat's my name, fast 'nuff; yer needn't go shouting it out dat ways."

"When I'se seed wid my own eyes," said Dolf.

"What has yer seen? Jis' 'ticlarise—I hate beatin' round de bush."

Clo really believed that Dolf was getting jealous; the bare idea filled her with a delicious thrill—triumphs of that sort were sufficiently rare in her experience to be exceedingly precious.

"But I don't know what yer mean," she went on, "no more'n de man in de moon."

"Dar it is!" said Dolf. "Why, I b'lieves dat ar's de only reason de sect looks at de moon, cause dar's a man in it."

"Oh, he's too far off," returned Clo, with a prolonged chuckle at her own wit; "too high up for much use."

"Bery good," said Dolf, "bery good indeed! Yer's in fine spirits to-day, Miss Clorindy."

Here Dolf sighed dolefully.

He certainly was in earnest this time—Clo felt assured of that. She forgot the half-washed vegetables, the unseasoned soup, and tried to pose herself with becoming dignity.

"I don't see why," she said, in sweet confusion. "But any how yer didn't prove nothin' 'bout my bein' coquettious."

"Dar it is!" cried Dolf. "It all goes togeder."

"Oh, laws," cried Clo, "as ef dat ar would set you a sighin'; I knows a heap better'n dat, Mister Dolf."

"Yer don't do me justice, Clorindy," said Dolf, seriously, putting on an injured look; "yer neber has done me justice."

"Why, what have I done now?" demanded Clo, beginning to play with her apron string.

"Clo! I say, ole Clo!"

Victoria, who was getting impatient with her confined position behind the laundry door, where she had done jealous duty as a listener, now dashed in upon the lovers, and broke up the conversation just as it reached a most interesting point.

"I say, ole Clo, them perserves are a bilen over; you can smell 'em here."