He didn’t stop to reason than upon the probable consequences of his act in seeking her.  Nature, which is stronger than reason, was compelling him.

“That depends,” said Victoria.

“Upon whom?”

“Upon you.”

They were on the lower stairs by this times, and there was silence between then for a few moments as they descended,—­principally because, after this exalting remark, Austen could not trust himself to speak.

“Will you go driving with me?” he asked, and was immediately thunderstruck at his boldness.

“Yes,” she answered, simply.

“How soon may I come?” he demanded,

She laughed softly, but with a joyous note which was not hidden from him as they stepped out of the darkened corridor into the dazzling winter noonday.

“I will be ready at three o’clock,” she said.

He looked at his watch.

“Two hours and a half!” he cried.

“If that is too early,” she said mischievously, “we can go later.”

“Too early!” he repeated.  But the rest of his protest was cut short by Mr. Crewe.

“Hello, Victoria, what did you think of my speech?”

“The destinies of the nation are settled,” said Victoria.  “Do you know Mr. Vane?”

“Oh, yes, how are you?” said Mr, Crewe; “glad to see you,” and he extended a furred glove.  “Were you there?”

“Yes,” said Austen.

“I’ll send you a copy.  I’d like to talk it over with you.  Come on, Victoria, I’ve arranged for an early lunch.  Come on, Mrs. Pomfret—­get in, Alice.”

Mrs. Pomfret, still protesting against the profane interruption to Mr. Crewe’s speech, bent her head to enter Mr. Crewe’s booby sleigh, which had his crest on the panel.  Alice was hustled in next, but Victoria avoided his ready assistance and got in herself, Mr. Crewe getting in beside her.

“Au revoir,” she called out to Austen, as the door slammed.  The coachman gathered his horses together, and off they went at a brisk trot.  Then the little group which had been watching the performance dispersed.  Halfway across the park Austen perceived some one signaling violently to him, and discovered his friend, young Tom Gaylord.

“Come to dinner with me,” said young Tom, “and tell me whether the speech of your friend from Leith will send him to Congress.  I saw you hobnobbing with him just now.  What’s the matter, Austen?  I haven’t seen that guilty expression on your face since we were at college together.”

“What’s the best livery-stable in town?” Austen asked.

“By George, I wondered why you came down here.  Who are you going to take out in a sleigh?  There’s a girl in it, is there?”

“Not yet, Tom,” said Austen.

“I’ve often asked myself why I ever had any use for such a secretive cuss as you,” declared young Mr. Gaylord.  “But if you’re really goin’ to get interested in girls, you ought to see old Flint’s daughter.  I wrote you about her.  Why,” exclaimed Tom, “wasn’t she one of those that got into Crewe’s sleigh?”