istant; at times--she had thought--she had had glimpses of
his soul; to-night he was inscrutable, and never had she realized the
power (which she bad known he must possess) of making himself so. And to
her? Her pride forbade her recalling at that moment the confidences which
had passed between them and which now seemed to have been so impossible.
He was serious because he was listening to serious news--she told
herself. But it was more than this: he had shut himself up, he was
impenetrable. Shame seized her; yes, and anger; and shame again at the
remembrance of her talk with Euphrasia--and anger once more. Could he
think that she would make advances to tempt his honour, and risk his good
opinion and her own?

Confidence is like a lute-string, giving forth sweet sounds in its
perfection; there are none so discordant as when it snaps.

Victoria scarcely heard Austen's acknowledgments of her kindness, so
perfunctory did they seem, so unlike the man she had known; and her own
protestations that she had done nothing to merit his thanks were to her
quite as unreal. She introduced him to the Englishman.

"Mr. Rangely has been good enough to come with me," she said.

"I've never seen anybody act with more presence of mind than Miss Flint,"
Rangely declared, as he shook Austen's hand. "She did just the right
thing, without wasting any time whatever."

"I'm sure of it," said Austen, cordially enough. But to Victoria's keener
ear, other tones which she had heard at other times were lacking. Nor
could she, clever as she was, see the palpable reason standing before
her!

"I say," said Rangely, as they drove away, "he strikes me as a remarkably
sound chap, Miss Flint. There is something unusual about him, something
clean cut."

"I've heard other people say so," Victoria replied. For the first time
since she had known him, praise of Austen was painful to her. What was
this curious attraction that roused the interest of all who came in
contact with him? The doctor had it, Mr. Redbrook, Jabe Jenney,--even
Hamilton Tooting, she remembered. And he attracted women as well as men
--it must be so. Certainly her own interest in him--a man beyond the
radius of her sphere--and their encounters had been strange enough! And
must she go on all her life hearing praises of him? Of one thing she was
sure--who was not?--that Austen Vane had a future. He was the type of man
which is inevitably impelled into places of trust.

Manly men, as a ru