Had his purpose been deliberately to enter into a contest with Mr. Flint, Austen could not have planned the early part of it any better than by pursuing this policy of silence.  To a man of Mr. Flint’s temperament and training, it was impossible to have such an opponent within reach without attempting to hector him into an acknowledgment of the weakness of his position.  Further than this, Austen had touched him too often on the quick merely to be considered in the light of a young man who held opposite and unfortunate views—­although it was Mr. Flint’s endeavour to put him in this light.  The list of injuries was too fresh in Mr. Flint’s mind—­even that last conversation with Victoria, in which she had made it plain that her sympathies were with Austen.

But with an opponent who would not be led into ambush, who had the strength to hold his fire under provocation, it was no easy matter to maintain a height of conscious, matter-of-fact rectitude and implied reproof.  Austen’s silence, Austen’s attitude, declared louder than words the contempt for such manoeuvres of a man who knows he is in the right —­and knows that his adversary knows it.  It was this silence and this attitude which proclaimed itself that angered Mr. Flint, yet made him warily conceal his anger and change his attack.

“It is some years since we met, Mr. Vane,” he remarked presently.

Austen’s face relaxed into something of a smile.

“Four, I think,” he answered.

“You hadn’t long been back from that Western experience.  Well, your father has one decided consolation; you have fulfilled his hope that you would settle down here and practise in the State.  And I hear that you are fast forging to the front.  You are counsel for the Gaylord Company, I believe.”

“The result of an unfortunate accident,” said Austen; “Mr. Hammer died.”

“And on the occasion when you did me the honour to call on me,” said Mr. Flint, “if I remember rightly, you expressed some rather radical views —­for the son of Hilary Vane.”

“For the son of Hilary Vane,” Austen agreed, with a smile.

Mr. Flint ignored the implication in the repetition.

“Thinking as mach as I do of Mr. Vane, I confess that your views at that time rather disturbed me.  It is a matter of relief to learn that you have refused to lend yourself to the schemes of men like our neighbour, Mr. Humphrey Crewe, of Leith.”

“Honesty compels me to admit,” answered Austen, “that I did not refrain on Mr. Crewe’s account.”

“Although,” said Mr. Flint, drumming on the table, “there was some talk that you were to be brought forward as a dark horse in the convention, and as a candidate unfriendly to the interests of the Northeastern Railroads, I am glad you did not consent to be put in any such position.  I perceive that a young man of your ability and—­popularity, a Vane of Camden Street, must inevitably become a force in this State.  And as a force, you must