ness that didn't concern 'em. But the
worst of it was," added Victoria, with some distress, "he won't accept
any more fruit. Isn't he silly? He won't get it into his head that I give
him the fruit, and not my father. I suspect that he actually believes my
father sent me down there to tell him that."

Austen was silent, for the true significance of this apparently obscure
damage case to the Northeastern Railroads was beginning to dawn on him.
The public was not in the best of humours towards railroads: there was
trouble about grade crossings, and Mr. Meader's mishap and the manner of
his rescue by the son of the corporation counsel had given the accident a
deplorable publicity. Moreover, if it had dawned on Augustus Flint that
the son of Hilary Vane might prosecute the suit, it was worth while
taking a little pains with Mr. Meader and Mr. Austen Vane. Certain small
fires have been known to light world-wide conflagrations.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Victoria. "It isn't at all polite to
forget the person you are talking to."

"I haven't forgotten you," said Austen, with a smile. How could he
--sitting under her in this manner?

"Besides," said Victoria, mollified, "you haven't an answered my
question."

"Which question?"

She scrutinized him thoughtfully, and with feminine art made the kind of
an attack that rarely fails.

"Why are you such an enigma, Mr. Vane?" she demanded. "Is it because
you're a lawyer, or because you've been out West and seen so much of life
and shot so many people?"

Austen laughed, yet he had tingling symptoms because she showed enough
interest in him to pronounce him a riddle. But he instantly became
serious as the purport of the last charge came home to him.

"I suppose I am looked upon as a sort of Jesse James," he said. "As it
happens, I have never shot but one man, and I didn't care very much for
that."

Victoria got up and came down a step and gave him her hand. He took it,
nor was he the first to relinquish the hold; and a colour rose delicately
in her face as she drew her fingers away.

"I didn't mean to offend you," she said.

"You didn't offend me," he replied quickly. "I merely wished you to know
that I wasn't a brigand."

Victoria smiled.

"I really didn't think so--you are much too solemn. I have to go now,
and--you haven't told me anything."

She crossed the road and began to descend the path on the other side.
Twice he glanced back, after he had started,