“So you’re home again,” Mr. Crewe observed, his eyes still bearing witness to the indubitable fact.  “I shouldn’t have known it—­I’ve been so busy.”

“Is the Legislature still in session?” Victoria soberly inquired.

“You are a little behind the times—­ain’t you?” said Mr. Crewe, in surprise.  “How long have you been home?  Hasn’t anybody told you what’s going on?”

“I only came up ten days ago,” she answered, “and I’m afraid I’ve been something of a recluse.  What is going on?”

“Well,” he declared, “I should have thought you’d heard it, anyway.  I’ll send you up a few newspapers when I get back.  I’m a candidate for the governorship.”

Victoria bit her lip, and leaned over to brush a fly from the neck of her horse.

“You are getting on rapidly, Humphrey,” she said.  “Do you think you’ve got—­any chance?”

“Any chance!” he repeated, with some pardonable force.  “I’m sure to be nominated.  There’s an overwhelming sentiment among the voters of this State for decent politics.  It didn’t take me long to find that out.  The only wonder is that somebody hasn’t seen it before.”

“Perhaps,” she answered, giving him a steady look, “perhaps somebody has.”

One of Mr. Crewe’s greatest elements of strength was his imperviousness to this kind of a remark.

“If anybody’s seen it,” he replied, “they haven’t the courage of their convictions.”  Such were the workings of Mr. Crewe’s mind that he had already forgotten that first talk with Mr. Hamilton Tooting.  “Not that I want to take too much credit on myself,” he added, with becoming modesty, “I have had some experience in the world, and it was natural that I should get a fresh view.  Are you coming down to Leith in a few days?”

“I may,” said Victoria.

“Telephone me,” said Mr. Crewe, “and if I can get off, I will.  I’d like to talk to you.  You have more sense than most women I know.”

“You overwhelm me, Humphrey.  Compliments sound strangely on your lips.”

“When I say a thing, I mean it,” Mr. Crewe declared.  “I don’t pay compliments.  I’d make it a point to take a little time off to talk to you.  You see, so many men are interested in this thing from various parts of the State, and we are so busy organizing, that it absorbs most of my day.”

“I couldn’t think of encroaching,” Victoria protested.

“That’s all right—­you can be a great help.  I’ve got confidence in your judgment.  By the way,” he asked suddenly, “you haven’t seen your friend Austen Vane since you got back, have you?”

“Why do you call him my friend?” said Victoria.  Mr. Crew perceived that the exercise had heightened her colour, and the transition appealed to his sense of beauty.

“Perhaps I put it a little strongly,” he replied.  “You seemed to take an interest in him, for some reason.  I suppose it’s because you like new types.”

“I like Mr. Vane very much,—­and for himself,” she said quietly.  “But I haven’t seen him since I came back.  Nor do I think I am likely to see him.  What made you ask about him?”