, and we are so busy organizing, that it absorbs most of my
day."

"I couldn't think of encroaching," Victoria protested.

"That's all right--you can be a great help. I've got confidence in your
judgment. By the way," he asked suddenly, "you haven't seen your friend
Austen Vane since you got back, have you?"

"Why do you call him my friend?" said Victoria. Mr. Crew perceived that
the exercise had heightened her colour, and the transition appealed to
his sense of beauty.

"Perhaps I put it a little strongly," he replied. "You seemed to take an
interest in him, for some reason. I suppose it's because you like new
types."

"I like Mr. Vane very much,--and for himself," she said quietly. "But I
haven't seen him since I came back. Nor do I think I am likely to see
him. What made you ask about him?"

"Well, he seems to be a man of some local standing, and he ought to be in
this campaign. If you happen to see him, you might mention the subject to
him. I've sent for him to come up and see me."

"Mr. Vane doesn't seem to me to be a person one can send for like that,"
Victoria remarked judicially. "As to advising him as to what course he
should take politically--that would even be straining my friendship for
you, Humphrey. On reflection," she added, smiling, "there may appear to
you reasons why I should not care to meddle with--politics, just now."

"I can't see it," said Mr. Crewe; "you've got a mind of your own, and
you've never been afraid to use it, so far as I know. If you should see
that Vane man, just give him a notion of what I'm trying to do."

"What are you trying to do?" inquired Victoria, sweetly.

"I'm trying to clean up this State politically," said Mr. Crewe, "and I'm
going to do it. When you come down to Leith, I'll tell you about it, and
I'll send you the newspapers to-day. Don't be in a hurry," he cried,
addressing over his shoulder two farmers in a wagon who had driven up a
few moments before, and who were apparently anxious to pass. "Wind her
up, Adolphe."

The chauffeur, standing by the crank, started the engine instantly, and
the gears screamed as Mr. Crewe threw in his low speed. The five-year-old
whirled, and bolted down the road at a pace which would have seemed to
challenge a racing car; and the girl in the saddle, bending to the motion
of the horse, was seen to raise her hand in warning.

"Better stay whar you be," shouted one of the farmers; "don't go to
follerin' her. The hoes is runnin'