It was some time before Austen came upon the object of his search—­though scarce admitting to himself that it had an object.  In greeting him, after inquiring about his railroad case, Mr. Crewe had indicated with a wave of his hand the general direction of the refreshments; but it was not until Austen had tried in all other quarters that he made his way towards the porch where the lemonade and cake and sandwiches were.  It was, after all, the most popular place, though to his mind the refreshments had little to do with its popularity.  From the outskirts of the crowd he perceived Victoria presiding over the punchbowl that held the lemonade.  He liked to think of her as Victoria; the name had no familiarity for him, but seemed rather to enhance the unattainable quality of her.

Surrounding Victoria were several clean-looking, freckled, and tanned young men of undergraduate age wearing straw hats with coloured ribbons, who showed every eagerness to obey and even anticipate the orders she did not hesitate to give them.  Her eye seemed continually on the alert for those of Mr. Crewe’s guests who were too bashful to come forward, and discerning them she would send one of her lieutenants forward with supplies.  Sometimes she would go herself to the older people; and once, perceiving a tired woman holding a baby (so many brought babies, being unable to leave them), Victoria impulsively left her post and seized the woman by the arm.

“Do come and sit down,” she cried; “there’s a chair beside me.  And oh, what a nice baby!  Won’t you let me hold him?”

“Why, yes, ma’am,” said the woman, looking up at Victoria with grateful, patient eyes, and then with awe at what seemed to her the priceless embroidery on Victoria’s waist, “won’t he spoil your dress?”

“Bless him, no,” said Victoria, poking her finger into a dimple—­for he was smiling at her.  “What if he does?” and forthwith she seized him in her arms and bore him to the porch, amidst the laughter of those who beheld her, and sat him down on her knee in front of the lemonade bowl, the tired mother beside her.  “Will a little lemonade hurt him?  Just a very, very little, you know?”

“Why, no, ma’am,” said the mother.

“And just a teeny bit of cake,” begged Victoria, daintily breaking off a piece, while the baby gurgled and snatched for it.  “Do tell me how old he is, and how many more you have.”

“He’s eleven months on the twenty-seventh,” said the mother, “and I’ve got four more.”  She sighed, her eyes wandering back to the embroidery.  “What between them and the housework and the butter makin’, it hain’t easy.  Be you married?”

“No,” said Victoria, laughing and blushing a little.

“You’ll make a good wife for somebody,” said the woman.  “I hope you’ll get a good man.”

“I hope so, too,” said Victoria, blushing still deeper amidst the laughter, “but there doesn’t seem to be much chance of it, and good men are very scarce.”