she said, in a lowered
voice, "inviting myself to drive and asking you such a question when I
scarcely know you. But I just couldn't go on with Mrs. Pomfret,--she
irritated me so,--and my front teeth are too valuable to drive with
Humphrey Crewe."

Austen smiled, and secretly agreed with her.

"I should have offered, if I had dared," he said.

"Dared! I didn't know that was your failing. I don't believe you even
thought of it."

"Nevertheless, the idea occurred to me, and terrified me," said Austen.

"Why?" she asked, turning upon him suddenly. "Why did it terrify you?"

"I should have been presuming upon an accidental acquaintance, which I
had no means of knowing you wished to continue," he replied, staring at
his horse's head.

"And I?" Victoria asked. "Presumption multiplies tenfold in a woman,
doesn't it?"

"A woman confers," said Austen.

She smiled, but with a light in her eyes. This simple sentence seemed to
reveal yet more of an inner man different from some of those with whom
her life had been cast. It was an American point of view--this choosing
to believe that the woman conferred. After offering herself as his
passenger Victoria, too, had had a moment of terror: the action had been
the result of an impulse which she did not care to attempt to define. She
changed the subject.

"You have been winning laurels since I saw you last summer," she said. "I
hear incidentally you have made our friend Zeb Meader a rich man."

"As riches go, in the town of Mercer," Austen laughed. "As for my
laurels, they have not yet begun to chafe."

Here was a topic he would have avoided, and yet he was curious to
discover what her attitude would be. He had antagonized her father, and
the fact that he was the son of Hilary Vane had given his antagonism
prominence.

"I am glad you did it for Zeb."

"I should have done it for anybody--much as I like Zeb," he replied
briefly.

She glanced at him.

"It was--courageous of you," she said.

"I have never looked upon it in that light," he answered. "May I ask you
how you heard of it?"

She coloured, but faced the question.

"I heard it from my father, at first, and I took an interest--on Zeb
Meader's account," she added hastily.

Austen was silent.

"Of course," she continued, "I felt a little like boasting of an
'accidental acquaintance' with the man who saved Zeb Meader's life."

Austen laughed. Then he drew Pepper down to a walk, and turned to her.

"The po