Austen was silent.

“Why won’t you be a candidate,” she asked, in a low voice, “if such men as that want you?”

“I am afraid Mr. Redbrook exaggerates,” he said.  “The popular demand of which he spoke is rather mythical.  And I should be inclined to accuse him, too, of a friendly attempt to install me in your good graces.”

“No,” answered Victoria, smiling, with serious eyes, “I won’t be put off that way.  Mr. Redbrook isn’t the kind of man that exaggerates—­I’ve seen enough of his type to know that.  And he told me about your—­reception last night at the Widow Peasley’s.  You wouldn’t have told me,” she added reproachfully.

He laughed.

“It was scarcely a subject I could have ventured,” he said.

“But I asked you,” she objected.  “Now tell me, why did you refuse to be their candidate?  It wasn’t because you were not likely to get elected, was it?”

He permitted himself a glance which was a tribute of admiration—­a glance which she returned steadfastly.

“It isn’t likely that I should have been elected,” he answered, “but you are right—­that is not the reason I refused.”

“I thought not,” she said, “I did not believe you were the kind of man to refuse for that reason.  And you would have been elected.”

“What makes you think so?” he asked curiously.

“I have been thinking since I saw you last—­yes, and I have been making inquiries.  I have been trying to find out things—­which you will not tell me.”  She paused, with a little catch of her breath, and went on again.  “Do you believe I came all the way up here just to hear Humphrey Crewe make a speech and to drive with him in a high sleigh and listen to him talk about his career?  When serious men of the people like Mr. Redbrook and that nice Mr. Jenney at Leith and a lot of others who do not ordinarily care for politics are thinking and indignant, I have come to the conclusion there must be a cause for it.  They say that the railroad governs them through disreputable politicians,—­and I—­I am beginning to believe it is true.  I have had some of the politicians pointed out to me in the Legislature, and they look like it.”

Austen did not smile.  She was speaking quietly, but he saw that she was breathing deeply, and he knew that she possessed a courage which went far beyond that of most women, and an insight into life and affairs.

“I am going to find out,” she said, “whether these things are true.”

“And then?” he asked involuntarily.

“If they are true, I am going to tell my father about them, and ask him to investigate.  Nobody seems to have the courage to go to him.”