"I'll go right away," said Austen, rising, and trying to speak cheerfully. "Mr. Flint was here early this morning—inquiring for you."
Hilary Vane's lips trembled, and another expression came into his eyes.
"Rode down to look at the scrap-heap,—did he?"
Austen strove to conceal his surprise at his father's words and change of manner.
"Tredway saw him," he said. "I'm pretty sure Mr. Flint doesn't feel that way, Judge. He has taken your illness very much to heart, I know, and he left some fruit and flowers for you."
"I guess his daughter sent those," said Hilary.
"His daughter?" Austen repeated.
"If I didn't think so," Mr. Vane continued, "I'd send 'em back. I never knew what she was until she picked me up and drove me down here. I've always done Victoria an injustice."
Austen walked to the door, and turned slowly.
"I'll go at once, Judge," he said.