y word has become a term of reproach.
Undoubtedly your father desires to set things right as much as any one
else--probably more than any one."

"Oh, I know he does," exclaimed Victoria.

"If politics are not all that they should be," he went on, somewhat
grimly, with an unpleasant feeling of hypocrisy, "we must remember that
they are nobody's fault in particular, and can't be set right in an
instant by any one man, no matter how powerful."

She turned her face to him gratefully, but he did not meet her look. They
were on the driveway of Fairview.

"I suppose you think me very silly for asking such questions," she said.

"No," he answered gravely, "but politics are so intricate a subject that
they are often not understood by those who are in the midst of them. I
admire--I think it is very fine in you to want to know."

"You are not one of the men who would not wish a woman to know, are you?"

"No," he said, "no, I'm not."

The note of pain in his voice surprised and troubled her. They were
almost in sight of the house.

"I asked you to come to Fairview," she said, assuming a lightness of
tone, "and you never appeared. I thought it was horrid of you to forget,
after we'd been such friends."

"I didn't forget," replied Austen.

"Then you didn't want to come."

He looked into her eyes, and she dropped them.

"You will have to be the best judge of that," he said.

"But what am I to think?" she persisted.

"Think the best of me you can," he answered, as they drew up on the
gravel before the open door of Fairview house. A man was standing in the
moonlight on the porch.

"Is that you, Victoria?"

"Yes, father."

"I was getting worried," said Mr. Flint, coming down on the driveway.

"I'm all right," she said, leaping out of the buggy, "Mr. Vane brought me
home."

"How are you, Hilary?" said Mr. Flint.

"I'm Austen Vane, Mr. Flint," said Austen.

"How are you?" said Mr. Flint, as curtly as the barest politeness
allowed. "What was the matter with your own horse, Victoria?"

"Nothing," she replied, after an instant's pause. Austen wondered many
times whether her lips had trembled. "Mr. Vane asked me to drive with
him, and I came. Won't--won't you come in, Mr. Vane?"

"No, thanks," said Austen, "I'm afraid I have to go back to Ripton."

"Good-by, and thank you," she said, and gave him her hand. As he pressed
it, he thought he felt the slightest pressure in return, and then she
fled up the steps. As h