. Poor dear Humphrey! The career of a gentleman in
politics is a thankless one in this country. I wonder at his fortitude."

Victoria's eyes alone betokened her amusement.

"How do you do, Mr. Vane?" she said. "I'm so glad to see you again."

Austen said something which he felt was entirely commonplace and
inadequate to express his own sentiments, while Alice gave him an
uncertain bow, and Mrs. Pomfret turned her glasses upon him.

"You remember Mr. Vane," said Victoria; "you met him at Humphrey's."

"Did I?" answered Mrs. Pomfret. "How do you do? Can't something be done
to punish those rowdies?"

Austen grew red.

"Mr. Vane isn't a member of the House," said Victoria.

"Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret. "Something ought to be done about it.
In England such a thing wouldn't be allowed to drop for a minute. If I
lived in this State, I think I should do something. Nobody in America
seems to have the spirit even to make a protest."

Austen turned quietly to Victoria.

"When are you going away?" he asked.

"To-morrow morning--earlier than I like to think of. I have to be in New
York by to-morrow night."

She flashed at him a look of approbation for his self-control, and
then, by a swift transition which he had often remarked, her expression
changed to one of amusement, although a seriousness lurked in the depths
of her eyes. Mrs. Pomfret had gone on, with Alice, and they followed.

"And--am I not to see you again before you go?" he exclaimed.

He didn't stop to reason than upon the probable consequences of his act
in seeking her. Nature, which is stronger than reason, was compelling
him.

"That depends," said Victoria.

"Upon whom?"

"Upon you."

They were on the lower stairs by this times, and there was silence
between then for a few moments as they descended,--principally because,
after this exalting remark, Austen could not trust himself to speak.

"Will you go driving with me?" he asked, and was immediately
thunderstruck at his boldness.

"Yes," she answered, simply.

"How soon may I come?" he demanded.

She laughed softly, but with a joyous note which was not hidden from him
as they stepped out of the darkened corridor into the dazzling winter
noonday.

"I will be ready at three o'clock," she said.

He looked at his watch.

"Two hours and a half!" he cried.

"If that is too early," she said mischievously, "we can go later."

"Too early!" he repeated. But the rest of his protest was cut sho