Victoria did not speak for a moment, and then she reached out her hand quickly and laid it on his that still held the telegram.  A lounge stood on one side of the fireplace, and she drew him gently to it, and he sat down at her side.  His acquiescence to her was a second nature, and he was once more bewildered.  His anger now seemed to have had no effect upon her whatever.

“I waited up to tell you about Hilary Vane, father,” she said gently.  “He has had a stroke, which I am afraid is serious.”

“A stroke!” cried Mr. Flint, “Why didn’t you tell me?  How do you know?”

Victoria related how she had found Hilary coming away from Fairview, and what she had done, and the word Dr. Tredway had sent.

“Good God!” cried Mr. Flint, “he won’t be able to go to the convention!” And he rose and pressed the electric button.  “Towers,” he said, when the butler appeared, “is Mr. Freeman still in my room?  Tell him to telephone to Ripton at once and find out how Mr. Hilary Vane is.  They’ll have to send a messenger.  That accounts for it,” he went on, rather to himself than to Victoria, and he began to pace the room once more; “he looked like a sick man when he was here.  And who have we got to put in his place?  Not a soul!”

He paced awhile in silence.  He appeared to have forgotten Victoria.

“Poor Hilary!” he said again, “poor Hilary!  I’ll go down there the first thing in the morning.”

Another silence, and then Mr. Freeman, the secretary, entered.

“I telephoned to Dr. Tredway’s, Mr. Flint.  I thought that would be quickest.  Mr. Vane has left home.  They don’t know where he’s gone.”

“Left home!  It’s impossible!” and he glanced at Victoria, who had risen to her feet.  “There must be some mistake.”

“No, sir.  First I got the doctor, who said that Mr. Vane was gone—­at the risk of his life.  And then I talked to Mr. Austen Vane himself, who was there consulting with the doctor.  It appears that Mr. Hilary Vane had left home by eight o’clock, when Mr. Austen Vane got there.”

“Hilary’s gone out of his head,” exclaimed Mr. Flint.  “This thing has unhinged him.  Here, take these telegrams.  No, wait a minute, I’ll go out there.  Call up Billings, and see if you can get Senator Whitredge.”

He started out of the room, halted, and turned his head and hesitated.

“Father,” said Victoria, “I don’t think Hilary Vane is out of his mind.”

“You don’t?” he said quickly.  “Why?”

By some unaccountable change in the atmosphere, of which Mr. Flint was unconscious, his normal relation to his daughter had been suddenly reestablished.  He was giving ear, as usual, to her judgment.

“Did Hilary Vane tell you he would go to the convention?” she asked.

“Yes.”  In spite of himself, he had given the word an apologetic inflection.

“Then he has gone already,” she said.  “I think, if you will telephone a little later to the State capital, you will find that he is in his room at the Pelican Hotel.”