"And yet you have survived triumphant," she exclaimed.

"There wahn't none of 'em like you," said Mr. Meader, "or it might have
be'n different."

Again her eyes irresistibly sought Austen's,--as though to share with him
the humour of this remark,--and they laughed together. Her colour, so
sensitive, rose again, but less perceptibly this time. Then she got up.

"That's unfair, Mr. Meader!" she protested.

"I'll leave it to Austen," said Mr. Meader, "if it ain't probable. He'd
ought to know."

In spite of a somewhat natural embarrassment, Austen could not but
acknowledge to himself that Mr. Meader was right. With a womanly movement
which he thought infinitely graceful, Victoria leaned over the bed.

"Mr. Meader," she said, "I'm beginning to think it's dangerous for me to
come here twice a week to see you, if you talk this way. And I'm not a
bit surprised that that woman didn't get the better of you."

"You hain't a-goin'!" he exclaimed. "Why, I callated--"

"Good-by," she said quickly; "I'm glad to see that you are doing so
well." She raised her head and looked at Austen in a curious, inscrutable
way. "Good-by, Mr. Vane," she said; "I--I hope Mr. Blodgett has
recovered."

Before he could reply she had vanished, and he was staring at the empty