cle Fairview every day
until he ran across her.

The goddess of fortune sometimes blesses the persistent even before they
begin to persist--perhaps from sheer weariness at the remembrance of
previous importuning. Victoria, on a brand-new and somewhat sensitive
five-year-old, was coming out of the stone archway when Mr. Crewe
(without any signal this time!) threw on his brakes. An exhibition of
horsemanship followed, on Victoria's part, which Mr. Crewe beheld with
admiration. The five-year-old swung about like a weathercock in a gust of
wind, assuming an upright position, like the unicorn in the British coat
of arms. Victoria cut him, and he came down on all fours and danced into
the wire fence that encircled the Fairview domain, whereupon he got
another stinging reminder that there was some one on his back.

"Bravo!" cried Mr. Crewe, leaning on the steering wheel and watching the
performance with delight. Never, he thought, had Victoria been more
appealing; strangely enough, he had not remembered that she was quite so
handsome, or that her colour was so vivid; or that her body was so
straight and long and supple. He liked the way in which she gave it to
that horse, and he made up his mind that she would grace any position,
however high. Presently the horse made a leap into the road in front of
the motor and stood trembling, ready to bolt.

"For Heaven's sake, Humphrey," she cried, "shut off your power? Don't sit
there like an idiot--do you think I'm doing this for pleasure?"

Mr. Crewe good-naturedly turned off his switch, and the motor, with a
dying sigh, was silent. He even liked the notion of being commanded to do
a thing; there was a relish about it that was new. The other women of his
acquaintance addressed him more deferentially.

"Get hold of the bridle," he said to the chauffeur. "You've got no
business to have an animal like that," was his remark to Victoria.

"Don't touch him!" she said to the man, who was approaching with a true
machinist's fear of a high-spirited horse. "You've got no business to
have a motor like that, if you can't handle it any better than you do."

"You managed him all right. I'll say that for you," said Mr. Crewe.

"No thanks to you," she replied. Now that the horse was comparatively
quiet, she sat and regarded Mr. Crewe with an amusement which was
gradually getting the better of her anger. A few moments since, and she
wished with great intensity that she had been using the whip o