“I believe such practices are not necessary now,” he said firmly.  “A new generation has come—­a generation more jealous of its political rights, and not so willing to be rid of them by farming them out.  A change has taken place even in the older men, like Mr. Jenney and Mr. Redbrook, who simply did not think about these questions ten years ago.  Men of this type, who could be leaders, are ready to assume their responsibilities, are ready to deal fairly with railroads and citizens alike.  This is a matter of belief.  I believe it—­Mr. Flint and my father do not.  They see the politicians, and I see the people.  I belong to one generation, and they to another.  With the convictions they have, added to the fact that they are in a position of heavy responsibility toward the owners of their property, they cannot be blamed for hesitating to try any experiments.”

“And the practices are—­bad?” Victoria asked.

“They are entirely subversive of the principles of American government, to say the least,” replied Austen, grimly.  He was thinking of the pass which Mr. Flint had sent him, and of the kind of men Mr. Flint employed to make the practices effective.

They descended into the darkness of a deep valley, scored out between the hills by one of the rushing tributaries of the Blue.  The moon fell down behind the opposite ridge, and the road ran through a deep forest.  He no longer saw the shades of meaning in her face, but in the blackness of Erebus he could have sensed her presence at his side.  Speech, though of this strange kind of which neither felt the strangeness, had come and gone between them, and now silence spoke as eloquently.  Twice or thrice their eyes met through the gloom,—­and there was light.  At length she spoke with the impulsiveness in her voice that he found so appealing.

“You must see my father—­you must talk to him.  He doesn’t know how fair you are!”

To Austen the inference was obvious that Mr. Flint had conceived for him a special animosity, which he must have mentioned to Victoria, and this inference opened the way to a wide speculation in which he was at once elated and depressed.  Why had he been so singled out?  And had Victoria defended him?  Once before he remembered that she had told him he must see Mr. Flint.  They had gained the ridge now, and the moon had risen again for them, striking black shadows from the maples on the granite-cropped pastures.  A little farther on was a road which might have been called the rear entrance to Fairview.

What was he to say?

“I am afraid Mr. Flint has other things to do than to see me,” he answered.  “If he wished to see me, he would say so.”

“Would you go to see him, if he were to ask you?” said Victoria.

“Yes,” he replied, “but that is not likely to happen.  Indeed, you are giving my opinion entirely too much importance in your father’s eyes,” he added, with an attempt to carry it off lightly; “there is no more reason why he should care to discuss the subject with me than with any other citizen of the State of my age who thinks as I do.”