“And by the way,” said Mr. Crewe, as he seized the steering wheel a few moments later, “just drop a line to Austen Vane, will you, and tell him I want to see him up here within a day or two.  Make an appointment.  It has occurred to me that he might be very useful.”

Mr. Tooting stood on the driveway watching the cloud of dust settle on the road below.  Then he indulged in a long and peculiarly significant whistle through his teeth, rolled his eyes heavenward, and went into the house.  He remembered Austen’s remark about riding a cyclone.

Mr. Crewe took the Tunbridge road.  On his excursion of the day before he had met Mrs. Pomfret, who had held up her hand, and he had protestingly brought the car to a stop.

“Your horses don’t frighten,” he had said.

“No, but I wanted to speak to you, Humphrey,” Mrs. Pomfret had replied; “you are becoming so important that nobody ever has a glimpse of you.  I wanted to tell you what an interest we take in this splendid thing you are doing.”

“Well,” said Mr. Crewe, “it was a plain duty, and nobody else seemed willing to undertake it.”

Mrs. Pomfret’s eyes had flashed.

“Men of that type are scarce,” she answered.  “But you’ll win.  You’re the kind of man that wins.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll win,” said Mr. Crewe.

“You’re so magnificently sure of yourself,” cried Mrs. Pomfret.  “Alice is taking such an interest.  Every day she asks, ’When is Humphrey going to make his first speech?’ You’ll let us know in time, won’t you?”

“Did you put all that nonsense in the New York Flare?” asked Mr. Crewe.

“Oh, Humphrey, I hope you liked it,” cried Mrs. Pomfret.  “Don’t make the mistake of despising what women can do.  They elected the Honourable Billy Aylestone—­he said so himself.  I’m getting all the women interested.”

“Who’ve you been calling on now?” he inquired.

Mrs. Pomfret hesitated.

“I’ve been up at Fairview to see about Mrs. Flint.  She isn’t much better.”

“Is Victoria home?” Mr. Crewe demanded, with undisguised interest.

“Poor dear girl!” said Mrs. Pomfret, “of course I wouldn’t have mentioned the subject to her, but she wanted to know all about it.  It naturally makes an awkward situation between you and her, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, Victoria’s level-headed enough,” Mr. Crewe had answered; “I guess she knows something about old Flint and his methods by this time.  At any rate, it won’t make any difference with me,” he added magnanimously, and threw in his clutch.  He had encircled Fairview in his drive that day, and was, curiously enough, headed in that direction now.  Slow to make up his mind in some things, as every eligible man must be, he was now coming rapidly to the notion that he might eventually decide upon Victoria as the most fitting mate for one in his position.  Still, there was no hurry.  As for going to Fairview House, that might be awkward, besides being open to misconstruction by his constituents.  Mr. Crewe reflected, as he rushed up the hills, that he had missed Victoria since she had been abroad—­and a man so continually occupied as he did not have time to miss many people.  Mr. Crewe made up his mind he would encircle Fairview every day until he ran across her.