den weight of the
husband at the end of the tail was as nothing to her. She had begun it
all by the study of people in hotels while Mr. Flint was closeted with
officials and directors. By dint of minute observation and reasoning
powers and unflagging determination she passed rapidly through several
strata, and had made a country place out of her husband's farm in
Tunbridge, so happily and conveniently situated near Leith. In winter
they lived on Fifth Avenue.

One daughter alone had halted, for a minute period, this progress, and
this daughter was Victoria--named by her mother. Victoria was now
twenty-one, and was not only of another generation, but might almost have
been judged of another race than her parents. The things for which her
mother had striven she took for granted, and thought of them not at all,
and she had by nature that simplicity and astonishing frankness of manner
and speech which was once believed to be an exclusive privilege of
duchesses.

To return to Fairview. Victoria, after sharing her five o'clock luncheon
with her dogs, went to seek her father, for the purpose (if it must be
told) of asking him for a cheque. Mr. Flint was at Fairview on the
average of two days out of the week during the summer, and then he was
nearly always closeted with a secretary and two stenographers and a
long-distance telephone in two plain little rooms at the back of the
house. And Mr. Hilary Vane was often in consultation with him, as he was
on the present occasion when Victoria flung open the door. At sight of
Mr. Vane she halted suddenly on the threshold, and a gleam of mischief
came into her eye as she thrust her hand into her coat pocket. The two
regarded her with the detached air of men whose thread of thought has
been broken.

"Well, Victoria," said her father, kindly if resignedly, "what is it
now?"

"Money," replied Victoria, promptly; "I went to Avalon this morning and
bought that horse you said I might have."

"What horse?" asked Mr. Flint, vaguely. "But never mind. Tell Mr. Freeman
to make out the cheque."

Mr. Vane glanced at Mr. Flint, and his eyes twinkled. Victoria, who had
long ago discovered the secret of the Honey Dew, knew that he was rolling
it under his tongue and thinking her father a fool for his indulgence.

"How do you do, Mr. Vane?" she said; "Austen's coming home, isn't he?"
She had got this by feminine arts out of Mr. Paul Pardriff, to whom she
had not confided the fact of her possess