“The campaign of the Honourable Humphrey Crewe of Leith,” said the State Tribune next day, “was inaugurated at the Opera House in Ripton last night before an enthusiastic audience consisting of Mr. Austen Vane, Mr. Thomas Gaylord, Jr., Mr. Hamilton Tooting, two reporters, and seventy-four ladies, who cheered the speaker to the echo.  About half of these ladies were summer residents of Leith in charge of the well-known social leader, Mrs. Patterson Pomfret,—­an organized league which, it is understood, will follow the candidate about the State in the English fashion, kissing the babies and teaching the mothers hygienic cooking and how to ondule the hair.”

After speaking for an hour and a half, the Honourable Humphrey Crewe declared that he would be glad to meet any of the audience who wished to shake his hand, and it was Mrs. Pomfret who reached him first.

“Don’t be discouraged, Humphrey,—­you are magnificent,” she whispered.

“Discouraged!” echoed Mr. Crewe.  “You can’t kill an idea, and we’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong before I get through with ’em.”

“What a noble spirit!” Mrs. Pomfret exclaimed aside to Mrs. Chillingham.  Then she added, in a louder tone, “Ladies, if you will kindly tell me your names, I shall be happy to introduce you to the candidate.  Well, Victoria, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?” said Victoria.  “Humphrey, accept my congratulations.”

“Did you like it?” asked Mr. Crewe.  “I thought it was a pretty good speech myself.  There’s nothing like telling the truth, you know.  And, by the way, I hope to see you in a day or two, before I start for Kingston.  Telephone me when you come down to Leith.”

The congratulations bestowed on the candidate by the daughter of the president of the Northeastern Railroads quite took the breath out of the spectators who witnessed the incident, and gave rise to the wildest conjectures.  And the admiration of Mr. Hastings Weare was unbounded.

“You’ve got the most magnificent nerve I ever saw, Victoria,” he exclaimed, as they made their way towards the door.

“You forget Humphrey,” she replied.

Hastings looked at her and chuckled.  In fact, he chuckled all the way home.  In the vestibule they met Mr. Austen Vane and Mr. Thomas Gaylord, the latter coming forward with a certain palpable embarrassment.  All through the evening Tom had been trying to account for her presence at the meeting, until Austen had begged him to keep his speculations to himself.  “She can’t be engaged to him!” Mr. Gaylord had exclaimed more than once, under his breath.  “Why not?” Austen had answered; “there’s a good deal about him to admire.”  “Because she’s got more sense,” said Tom doggedly.  Hence he was at a loss for words when she greeted him.

“Well, Mr. Gaylord,” she said, “you see no bones were broken, after all.  But I appreciated your precaution in sending the buggy behind me, although it wasn’t necessary.