“Good-by,” she said quickly; “I’m glad to see that you are doing so well.”  She raised her head and looked at Austen in a curious, inscrutable way.  “Good-by, Mr. Vane,” she said; “I—­I hope Mr. Blodgett has recovered.”

Before he could reply she had vanished, and he was staring at the empty doorway.  The reference to the unfortunate Mr. Blodgett, after taking his breath away, aroused in him an intense curiosity betraying, as it did, a certain knowledge of past events in his life in the hitherto unknown daughter of Augustus interest could she have in him?  Such a Flint.  What question, from similar sources, has heightened the pulse of young men from time immemorial.

CHAPTER IV

“Timeo Danaos”

The proverbial little birds that carry news and prophecies through the air were evidently responsible for an official-looking letter which Austen received a few mornings later.  On the letter-head was printed “The United Northeastern Railroads,” and Mr. Austen Vane was informed that, by direction of the president, the enclosed was sent to him in an entirely complimentary sense.  “The enclosed” was a ticket of red cardboard, and its face informed him that he might travel free for the rest of the year.  Thoughtfully turning it over, he read on the back the following inscription:—­“It is understood that this pass is accepted by its recipient as a retainer.”

Austen stared at it and whistled.  Then he pushed back his chair, with the pass in his hand, and hesitated.  He seized a pen and wrote a few lines:  “Dear sir, I beg to return the annual pass over the Northeastern Railroads with which you have so kindly honoured me”—­when he suddenly changed his mind again, rose, and made his way through the corridors to his father’s office.  The Honourable Hilary was absorbed in his daily perusal of the Guardian.

“Judge,” he asked, “is Mr. Flint up at his place this week?”

The Honourable Hilary coughed.

“He arrived yesterday on the three.  Er—­why?”

“I wanted to go up and thank him for this,” his son answered, holding up the red piece of cardboard.  “Mr. Flint is a very thoughtful man.”

The Honourable Hilary tried to look unconcerned, and succeeded.

“Sent you an annual, has he?  Er—­I don’t know as I’d bother him personally, Austen.  Just a pleasant note of acknowledgment.”

“I don’t flatter myself that my achievements in the law can be responsible for it,” said Austen.  “The favour must be due to my relationship with his eminent chief counsel.”

Hilary Vane’s keen eyes rested on his son for an instant.  Austen was more than ever an enigma to him.

“I guess relationship hasn’t got much to do with business,” he replied.  “You have be’n doing—­er—­better than I expected.”

“Thank you, Judge,” said Austen, quietly.  “I don’t mind saying that I would rather have your approbation than—­this more substantial recognition of merit.”