"Untold sums," she declared, "if they can talk like you."
"He kind of thought that story funny—same as you," Mr. Meader ruminated, and glanced up. "Drat me," he remarked, "if he ain't a-comin' now! I callated he'd run acrost you sometime."
Victoria raised her eyes, sparkling with humour, and they met Austen's.
"We was just talkin' about you," cried Mr. Meader, cordially; "come right in." He turned to Victoria. "I want to make you acquainted," he said, "with Austen Vane."
"And won't you tell him who I am, Mr. Meader?" said Victoria.
"Well," said Mr. Meader, apologetically, "that was stupid of me—wahn't it? But I callated he'd know. She's the daughter of the railrud president—the 'one that was askin' about you."
There was an instant's pause, and the colour stole into Victoria's cheeks. Then she glanced at Austen and bit her lip-and laughed. Her laughter was contagious.
"I suppose I shall have to confess that you have inspired my curiosity,
Mr. Vane," she said.
Austen's face was sunburned, but it flushed a more vivid red under the tan. It is needless to pretend that a man of his appearance and qualities had reached the age of thirty-two without having listened to feminine comments of which he was the exclusive subject. In this remark of Victoria's, or rather in the manner in which she made it, he recognized a difference.
"It is a tribute, then, to the histrionic talents of Mr. Meader, of which you were speaking," he replied laughingly.