"Certainly," said Victoria. "Mr. Vane," she called, "I want to introduce an admirer, Mr. Hastings Weare."
"I just wanted to know you," said Hastings, reddening, "and Victoria—I mean Miss Flint—said she'd introduce me."
"I'm much obliged to her," said Austen, smiling.
"Are you in politics?" asked Hastings.
"I'm afraid not," answered Austen, with a glance at Victoria.
"You're not helping Humphrey Crewe, are you?"
"No," said Austen, and added with an illuminating smile, "Mr. Crewe doesn't need any help."
"I'm glad you're not," exclaimed the downright Hastings, with palpable relief in his voice that an idol had not been shattered. "I think Humphrey's a fakir, and all this sort of thing tommyrot. He wouldn't get my vote by giving me lemonade and cake and letting me look at his cows. If you ever run for office, I'd like to cast it for you. My father is only a summer resident, but since he has gone out of business he stays here till Christmas, and I'll be twenty-one in a year."
Austen had ceased to smile; he was looking into the boy's eyes with that serious expression which men and women found irresistible.
"Thank you, Mr. Weare," he said simply.