ever get it," he said. "Stopping work won't give it to me."

She pondered on these words as she guided the horse over a crossing. And
all that Austen had said to her, all that she had been thinking of for a
year past, helped her to grasp their meaning. But she wondered still more
at the communion which, all at once, had been established between Hilary
Vane and herself, and why he was saying these things to her. It was all
so unreal and inexplicable.

"I can imagine that people who have worked hard all their lives must feel
that way," she answered, though her voice was not as steady as she could
have wished. "You--you have so much to live for."

Her colour rose. She was thinking of Austen--and she knew that Hilary
Vane knew that she was thinking of Austen. Moreover, she had suddenly
grasped the fact that the gentle but persistently strong influence of the
son's character had brought about the change in the father. Hilary Vane's
lips closed again, as in pain, and she divined the reason.

Victoria knew the house in Hanover Street, with its classic porch, with
its certain air of distinction and stability, and long before she had
known it as the Austen residence she remembered wondering who lived in
it. The house had individuality, and (looked at from the front) almost
perfect proportions; consciously--it bespoke the gentility of its
builders. Now she drew up before it and called to Mr. Rangely, who was
abreast, to tie his horse and ring the bell. Hilary was already feeling
with his foot for the step of the buggy.

"I'm all right," he insisted; "I can manage now," but Victoria seized his
arm with a firm, detaining hand.

"Please wait,--Mr. Vane," she pleaded.

But the feeling of shame at his helplessness was strong.

"It's over now. I--I can walk. I'm much obliged to you, Victoria--much
obliged."

Fortunately Hilary's horse showed no inclination to go any farther--even
to the stable. And Victoria held on to his arm. He ceased to protest, and
Mr. Rangely quickly tied the other horse and came to Victoria's aid.
Supported by the young Englishman, Hilary climbed the stone steps and
reached the porch, declaring all the while that he needed no assistance,
and could walk alone. Victoria rang the bell, and after an interval the
door was opened by Euphrasia Cotton.

Euphrasia stood upright with her hand on the knob, and her eyes flashed
over the group and rested fixedly on the daughter of Mr. Flint.

"Mr. Vane was not ver