Austen was silent, for the true significance of this apparently obscure damage case to the Northeastern Railroads was beginning to dawn on him.  The public was not in the best of humours towards railroads:  there was trouble about grade crossings, and Mr. Meader’s mishap and the manner of his rescue by the son of the corporation counsel had given the accident a deplorable publicity.  Moreover, if it had dawned on Augustus Flint that the son of Hilary Vane might prosecute the suit, it was worth while taking a little pains with Mr. Meader and Mr. Austen Vane.  Certain small fires have been known to light world-wide conflagrations.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Victoria.  “It isn’t at all polite to forget the person you are talking to.”

“I haven’t forgotten you,” said Austen, with a smile.  How could he —­sitting under her in this manner?

“Besides,” said Victoria, mollified, “you haven’t an answered my question.”

“Which question?”

She scrutinized him thoughtfully, and with feminine art made the kind of an attack that rarely fails.

“Why are you such an enigma, Mr. Vane?” she demanded.  “Is it because you’re a lawyer, or because you’ve been out West and seen so much of life and shot so many people?”

Austen laughed, yet he had tingling symptoms because she showed enough interest in him to pronounce him a riddle.  But he instantly became serious as the purport of the last charge came home to him.

“I suppose I am looked upon as a sort of Jesse James,” he said.  “As it happens, I have never shot but one man, and I didn’t care very much for that.”

Victoria got up and came down a step and gave him her hand.  He took it, nor was he the first to relinquish the hold; and a colour rose delicately in her face as she drew her fingers away.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said.

“You didn’t offend me,” he replied quickly.  “I merely wished you to know that I wasn’t a brigand.”

Victoria smiled.

“I really didn’t think so—­you are much too solemn.  I have to go now, and—­you haven’t told me anything.”

She crossed the road and began to descend the path on the other side.  Twice he glanced back, after he had started, and once surprised her poised lightly among the leaves, looking over her shoulder.

CHAPTER V

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

The next time Austen visited the hospital Mr. Meader had a surprise in store for him.  After passing the time of day, as was his custom, the patient freely discussed the motives which had led him to refuse any more of Victoria’s fruit.

“I hain’t got nothing against her,” he declared; “I tried to make that plain.  She’s as nice and common a young lady as I ever see, and I don’t believe she had a thing to do with it.  But I suspicioned they was up to somethin’ when she brought them baskets.  And when she give me the message from old Flint, I was sure of it.”