Nevertheless, amidst somewhat of a pandemonium, the vote of thanks was given and the House adjourned; while Mr. Crewe’s friends of whom he had spoken could be seen pressing around him and shaking him by the hand.  Austen got to his feet, his eyes again sought the gallery, whence he believed he received a look of understanding from a face upon which amusement seemed plainly written.  She had turned to glance down at him, despite the fact that Mrs. Pomfret was urging her to leave.  Austen started for the door, and managed to reach it long before his neighbours had left the vicinity of their seats.  Once in the corridor, his eye singled her out amongst those descending the gallery stairs, and he had a little thrill of pride and despair when he realized that she was the object of the scrutiny, too, of the men around him; the women were interested, likewise, in Mrs. Pomfret, whose appearance, although appropriate enough for a New York matinee, proclaimed her as hailing from that mysterious and fabulous city of wealth.  This lady, with her lorgnette, was examining the faces about her in undisguised curiosity, and at the same time talking to Victoria in a voice which she took no pains to lower.

“I think it outrageous,” she was saying.  “If some Radical member had done that in Parliament, he would have been expelled from the House.  But of course in Parliament they wouldn’t have those horrid things to roll down the aisles.  Poor dear Humphrey!  The career of a gentleman in politics is a thankless one in this country.  I wonder at his fortitude.”

Victoria’s eyes alone betokened her amusement.

“How do you do, Mr. Vane?” she said.  “I’m so glad to see you again.”

Austen said something which he felt was entirely commonplace and inadequate to express his own sentiments, while Alice gave him an uncertain bow, and Mrs. Pomfret turned her glasses upon him.

“You remember Mr. Vane,” said Victoria; “you met him at Humphrey’s.”

“Did I?” answered Mrs. Pomfret.  “How do you do?  Can’t something be done to punish those rowdies?”

Austen grew red.

“Mr. Vane isn’t a member of the House,” said Victoria.

“Oh,” exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret.  “Something ought to be done about it.  In England such a thing wouldn’t be allowed to drop for a minute.  If I lived in this State, I think I should do something.  Nobody in America seems to have the spirit even to make a protest.”

Austen turned quietly to Victoria.

“When are you going away?” he asked.

“To-morrow morning—­earlier than I like to think of.  I have to be in New York by to-morrow night.”

She flashed at him a look of approbation for his self-control, and then, by a swift transition which he had often remarked, her expression changed to one of amusement, although a seriousness lurked in the depths of her eyes.  Mrs. Pomfret had gone on, with Alice, and they followed.

“And—­am I not to see you again before you go?” he exclaimed.