o accuse
him, too, of a friendly attempt to install me in your good graces."

"No," answered Victoria, smiling, with serious eyes, "I won't be put off
that way. Mr. Redbrook isn't the kind of man that exaggerates--I've seen
enough of his type to know that. And he told me about your--reception
last night at the Widow Peasley's. You wouldn't have told me," she added
reproachfully.

He laughed.

"It was scarcely a subject I could have ventured," he said.

"But I asked you," she objected. "Now tell me, why did you refuse to be
their candidate? It wasn't because you were not likely to get elected,
was it?"

He permitted himself a glance which was a tribute of admiration--a glance
which she returned steadfastly.

"It isn't likely that I should have been elected," he answered, "but you
are right--that is not the reason I refused."

"I thought not," she said, "I did not believe you were the kind of man to
refuse for that reason. And you would have been elected."

"What makes you think so?" he asked curiously.

"I have been thinking since I saw you last--yes, and I have been making
inquiries. I have been trying to find out things--which you will not tell
me." She paused, with a little catch of her breath, and went on again.
"Do you believe I came all the way up here just to hear Humphrey Crewe
make a speech and to drive with him in a high sleigh and listen to him
talk about his career? When serious men of the people like Mr. Redbrook
and that nice Mr. Jenney at Leith and a lot of others who do not
ordinarily care for politics are thinking and indignant, I have come to
the conclusion there must be a cause for it. They say that the railroad
governs them through disreputable politicians,--and I--I am beginning to
believe it is true. I have had some of the politicians pointed out to me
in the Legislature, and they look like it."

Austen did not smile. She was speaking quietly, but he saw that she was
breathing deeply, and he knew that she possessed a courage which went far
beyond that of most women, and an insight into life and affairs.

"I am going to find out," she said, "whether these things are true."

"And then?" he asked involuntarily.

"If they are true, I am going to tell my father about them, and ask him
to investigate. Nobody seems to have the courage to go to him."

Austen did not answer. He felt the implication; he knew that, without
realizing his difficulties, and carried on by a feeling long pent up, sh