“Then you did intend to bring up the subject—some day?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Victoria. She sat down again. “I have often wanted to hear—your side of it.”
“Whose side have you heard?” demanded Mr. Flint.
A crimson flush crept into her cheek, but her father was too disturbed to notice it.
“You know,” she said gently, “I go about the country a good deal, and I hear people talking,—farmers, and labourers, and people in the country stores who don't know that I'm your daughter.”
“What do they say?” asked Mr. Flint, leaning forward eagerly and aggressively.
Victoria hesitated, turning over the matter in her mind.
“You understand, I am merely repeating what they say—”
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted, “I want to know how far this thing has gone among them.”
“Well,” continued Victoria, looking at him bravely, “as nearly as I can remember their argument it is this: that the Northeastern Railroads control the politics of the State for their own benefit. That you appoint the governors and those that go to the Legislature, and that—Hilary Vane gets them elected. They say that he manages a political machine—that's the right word, isn't it?—for you. And that no laws can be passed of which you do not approve. And they say that the politicians whom Hilary Vane commands, and the men whom they put into office are all beholden to the railroad, and are of a sort which good citizens cannot support. They say that the railroad has destroyed the people's government.”