“Austen ain’t himself lately,” she remarked.

“I knew that he didn’t get along with Hilary,” said Tom, sympathetically, beginning to realize now that Euphrasia had come to talk about her idol.

“It’s Hilary doesn’t get along with him,” she retorted indignantly.  “He’s responsible—­not Austen.  Of all the narrow, pig-headed, selfish men the Lord ever created, Hilary Vane’s the worst.  It’s Hilary drove him out of his mother’s house to live with strangers.  It’s Austen that comes around to inquire for his father—­Hilary never has a word to say about Austen.”  A trace of colour actually rose under Euphrasia’s sallow skin, and she cast her eyes downward.  “You’ve known him a good while, haven’t you, Tom?”

“All my life,” said Tom, mystified again, “all my life.  And I, think more of him than of anybody else in the world.”

“I calculated as much,” she said; “that’s why I came.”  She hesitated.  Artful Euphrasia!  We will let the ingenuous Mr. Gaylord be the first to mention this delicate matter, if possible.  “Goodness knows, it ain’t Hilary I came to talk about.  I had a notion that you’d know if anything else was troubling Austen.”

“Why,” said Tom, “there can’t be any business troubles outside of those Hilary’s mixed up in.  Austen doesn’t spend any money to speak of, except what he gives away, and he’s practically chief counsel for our company.”

Euphrasia was silent a moment.

“I suppose there’s nothing else that could bother him,” she remarked.  She had never held Tom Gaylord’s powers of comprehension in high estimation, and the estimate had not risen during this visit.  But she had undervalued him; even Tom could rise to an inspiration—­when the sources of all other inspirations were eliminated.

“Why,” he exclaimed, with a masculine lack of delicacy, “he may be in love—­”

“That’s struck you, has it?” said Euphrasia.

But Tom appeared to be thinking; he was, in truth, engaged in collecting his cumulative evidence:  Austen’s sleigh-ride at the capital, which he had discovered; his talk with Victoria after her fall, when she had betrayed an interest in Austen which Tom had thought entirely natural; and finally Victoria’s appearance at Mr. Crewe’s rally in Ripton.  Young Mr. Gaylord had not had a great deal of experience in affairs of the heart, and he was himself aware that his diagnosis in such a matter would not carry much weight.  He had conceived a tremendous admiration for Victoria, which had been shaken a little by the suspicion that she might be intending to marry Mr. Crewe.  Tom Gaylord saw no reason why Austen Vane should not marry Mr. Flint’s daughter if he chose—­or any other man’s daughter; partaking, in this respect, somewhat of Euphrasia’s view.  As for Austen himself, Tom had seen no symptoms; but then, he reflected, he would not be likely to see any.  However, he perceived the object now of Euphrasia’s visit, and began to take the liveliest interest in it.