Victoria, descending the stairs, hastily pinned on a hat which she kept in the coat closet, and hurried across the lawn in the direction Mr. Flint had taken.  Reaching the pine grove, thinned by a famous landscape architect, she paused involuntarily to wonder again at the ultramarine of Sawanec through the upright columns of the trunks under the high canopy of boughs.  The grove was on a plateau, which was cut on the side nearest the mountain by the line of a gray stone wall, under which the land fell away sharply.  Mr. Flint was seated on a bench, his hands clasped across his stick, and as she came softly over the carpet of the needles he did not hear her until she stood beside him.

“You didn’t tell me that you were going for a walk,” she said reproachfully.

He started, and dropped his stick.  She stooped quickly, picked it up for him, and settled herself at his side.

“I—­I didn’t expect to go, Victoria,” he answered.

“You see,” she said, “it’s useless to try to slip away.  I saw you from the balcony.”

“How’s your mother feeling?” he asked.

“She’s asleep.  She seems better to me since she’s come back to Fairview.”

Mr. Flint stared at the mountain with unseeing eyes.

“Father,” said Victoria, “don’t you think you ought to stay up here at least a week, and rest?  I think so.”

“No,” he said, “no.  There’s a directors’ meeting of a trust company to-morrow which I have to attend.  I’m not tired.”

Victoria shook her head, smiling at him with serious eyes.

“I don’t believe you know when you are tired,” she declared.  “I can’t see the good of all these directors’ meetings.  Why don’t you retire, and live the rest of your life in peace?  You’ve got—­money enough, and even if you haven’t,” she added, with the little quiver of earnestness that sometimes came into her voice, “we could sell this big house and go back to the farmhouse to live.  We used to be so happy there.”

He turned abruptly, and fixed upon her a steadfast, searching stare that held, nevertheless, a strange tenderness in it.

“You don’t care for all this, do you, Victoria?” he demanded, waving his stick to indicate the domain of Fairview.

She laughed gently, and raised her eyes to the green roof of the needles.

“If we could only keep the pine grove!” she sighed.  “Do you remember what good times we had in the farmhouse, when you and I used to go off for whole days together?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Flint, “yes.”

“We don’t do that any more,” said Victoria.  “It’s only a little drive and a walk, now and then.  And they seem to be growing—­scarcer.”

Mr. Flint moved uneasily, and made an attempt to clear his voice.

“I know it,” he said, and further speech seemingly failed him.  Victoria had the greater courage of the two.

“Why don’t we?” she asked.

“I’ve often thought of it,” he replied, still seeking his words with difficulty.  “I find myself with more to do every year, Victoria, instead of less.”