oubtless contributing.

"Are you hurt, Miss Flint?" he asked.

"Not in the least," she replied, springing to her feet to prove the
contrary. What's become of my horse?"

"Two of the men have gone after him," he said, staring at her with
undisguised but honest admiration. Whereupon he became suddenly
embarrassed, and pulled out a handkerchief the size of a table napkin.
"Let me dust you off."

"Thank you," said Victoria, laughing, and beginning the process herself.
Her new acquaintance plied the handkerchief, his face a brighter
brick-red than ever.

"Thank God, there wasn't a freight on the siding," he remarked, so
fervently that Victoria stole a glance at him. The dusting process
continued.

"There," she exclaimed, at last, adjusting her stock and shaking her
skirt, "I'm ever so much obliged. It was very foolish in me to tumble
off, wasn't it?"

"It was the only thing you could have done," he declared. "I had a good
view of it, and he flung you like a bean out of a shooter. That's a
powerful horse. I guess you're the kind that likes to take risks."

Victoria laughed at his expressive phrase, and crossed the road, and sat
down on the edge of the lumber pile, in the shade.

"There seems to be nothing to do but wait," she said, "and to thank you
again. Will you tell me your name?"

"I'm Tom Gaylord," he replied.

Her colour, always so near the surface, rose a little as she regarded
him. So this was Austen Vane's particular friend, whom he had tried to
put out of his window. A Herculean task, Victoria thought, from Tom's
appearance. Tom sat down within a few feet of her.

"I've seen you a good many times, Miss Flint," he remarked, applying the
handkerchief to his face.

"And I've seen you--once, Mr. Gaylord," some mischievous impulse prompted
her to answer. Perhaps the impulse was more deep-seated, after all.

"Where?" demanded Tom, promptly.

"You were engaged," said Victoria, "in a struggle in a window on Ripton
Square. It looked, for a time," she continued, "as if you were going to
be dropped on the roof of the porch."

Tom gazed at her in confusion and surprise.

"You seem to be fond, too, of dangerous exercise," she observed.

"Do you mean to say you remembered me from that?" he exclaimed. "Oh, you
know Austen Vane, don't you?"

"Does Mr. Vane acknowledge the acquaintance?" Victoria inquired.

"It's funny, but you remind me of Austen," said Tom, grinning; "you seem
to have the same queer way