e strides and seized him by the arm.

"Hold on, Vane," he said, speaking with some difficulty; "I'm--I'm a
little upset this morning, and my temper got the best of me. You and I
have been good friends for too many years for us to part this way. Sit
down a minute, for God's sake, and let's cool off. I didn't intend to
say what I did. I apologize."

Mr. Flint dropped his counsel's arm, and pulled out a handkerchief, and
mopped his face. "Sit down, Hilary," he said.

The Honourable Hilary's tight lips trembled. Only three or four times in
their long friendship had the president made use of his first name.

"You wouldn't leave me in the lurch now, Hilary," Mr. Flint continued,
"when all this nonsense is in the air? Think of the effect such an
announcement would have! Everybody knows and respects you, and we can't
do without your advice and counsel. But I won't put it on that ground.
I'd never forgive myself, as long as I lived, if I lost one of my oldest
and most valued personal friends in this way."

The Honourable Hilary looked at Mr. Flint, and sat down. He began to cut
a piece of Honey Dew, but his hand shook. It was difficult, as we know,
for him to give expression to his feelings.

"All right," he said.

Half an hour later Victoria, from under the awning of the little
balcony in front of her mother's sitting room, saw her father come out
bareheaded into the sun and escort the Honourable Hilary Vane to his
buggy. This was an unwonted proceeding.

Victoria loved to sit in that balcony, a book lying neglected in her
lap, listening to the summer sounds: the tinkle of distant cattle bells,
the bass note of a hurrying bee, the strangely compelling song of the
hermit-thrush, which made her breathe quickly; the summer wind, stirring
wantonly, was prodigal with perfumes gathered from the pines and
the sweet June clover in the fields and the banks of flowers; in
the distance, across the gentle foreground of the hills, Sawanec
beckoned--did Victoria but raise her eyes!--to a land of enchantment.

The appearance of her father and Hilary had broken her reverie, and a
new thought, like a pain, had clutched her. The buggy rolled slowly down
the drive, and Mr. Flint, staring after it a moment, went in the house.
After a few minutes he emerged again, an old felt hat on his head which
he was wont to wear in the country and a stick in his hand. Without
raising his eyes, he started slowly across the lawn; and to Victoria,
leani