“I saw him once or twice last summer, at Leith,” said Victoria, now wavering between laughter and exasperation.  She had got herself into a quandary indeed when she had to parry the appalling frankness of such inquiries.

“The more you see of him, the more you’ll admire him, I’ll prophesy,” said Tom.  “If he’d been content to travel along the easy road, as most fellows are, he would have been counsel for the Northeastern.  Instead of that—­” here Tom halted abruptly, and turned scarlet:  “I forgot,” he said, “I’m always putting my foot in it, with ladies.”

He was so painfully confused that Victoria felt herself suffering with him, and longed to comfort him.

“Please go on, Mr. Gaylord,” she said; “I am very much interested in my neighbours here, and I know that a great many of them think that the railroad meddles in politics.  I’ve tried to find out what they think, but it is so difficult for a woman to understand.  If matters are wrong, I’m sure my father will right them when he knows the situation.  He has so much to attend to.”  She paused.  Tom was still mopping his forehead.  “You may say anything you like to me, and I shall not take offence.”

Tom’s admiration of her was heightened by this attitude.

“Austen wouldn’t join Mr. Crewe in his little game, anyway,” he said.  “When Ham Tooting, Crewe’s manager, came to him he kicked him downstairs.”

Victoria burst out laughing.

“I constantly hear of these ferocious deeds which Mr. Vane commits,” she said, “and yet he seems exceptionally good-natured and mild-mannered.”

“That’s straight—­he kicked him downstairs.  Served Tooting right, too.”

“There does seem to have been an element of justice in it,” Victoria remarked.

“You haven’t seen Austen since he left his father?” Mr. Gaylord inquired.

“Left him!  Where—­has he gone?”

“Gone up to live with Jabe Jenney.  If Austen cared anything about money, he never would have broken with the old man, who has some little put away.”

“Why did he leave his father?” asked Victoria, not taking the trouble now to conceal her interest.

“Well,” said Tom, “you know they never did get along.  It hasn’t been Austen’s fault—­he’s tried.  After he came back from the West he stayed here to please old Hilary, when he might have gone to New York and made a fortune at the law, with his brains.  But after Austen saw the kind of law the old man practised he wouldn’t stand for it, and got an office of his own.”

Victoria’s eyes grew serious.

“What kind of law does Hilary Vane practise?” she asked.

Tom hesitated and began to mop his forehead again.

“Please don’t mind me,” Victoria pleaded.

“Well, all right,” said Tom, “I’ll tell you the truth, or die for it.  But I don’t want to make you-unhappy.”

“You will do me a kindness, Mr. Gaylord,” she said, “by telling me what you believe to be true.”