pleasantly on Austen's ear. Miss Victoria Flint was sated beside Mr.
Meader's bed, and qualified friendship had evidently been replaced by
intimacy since Austen's last visit, for Mr. Meader was laughing, too.

"And now I'm quite sure you have missed your vocation, Mr. Meader," said
Victoria. "You would have made a fortune on the stage."

"Me a play-actor!" exclaimed the invalid. "How much wages do they git?"

"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.