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"But aside from that, you must know that the Republican party leaders in this State are the heads of the lobby of the Northeastern Railroads." "I guess I know about Number Seven as well as you do," old Tom interjected. Austen's eye flashed. "Now hold on, father," said young Tom, "that's no way to talk to Austen."
Mr. Flint smiled again. "We have changed materially since then," he said. "I am afraid such a utopian state of affairs, beautiful as it is, will not work in the twentieth century. It is a commercial age, and the interests which are the bulwark of the country's strength must be protected." "Yes," said Austen, "we have changed materially.
Austen was at a loss to know what fairy godmother had prompted Mr. Crewe to send him an invitation, the case of the injured horse not having advanced with noticeable rapidity. Nevertheless, the prospect of the garden-party dawned radiantly for him above what had hitherto been a rather gloomy horizon.
He often grunted and cleared his throat and glanced at his son when their talk bordered upon these absences; and he was even conscious of an extreme irritation against himself as well as Austen because of the instinct that bade him keep silent.
For her moods, like her tempers, used to delight in being somewhat inconsistent and mixed." "She has in no way changed," replied Austen. Was it this flat conciseness in all he said that made levity irresistible to Harriet in turn? "My interview with her was confined to business.
"Hastings, don't you see that poor old woman over there? She looks so thirsty give her this." The boy addressed, with a glance at Austen, did as he was bid, and she sent off a second on another errand. "Let me help," said Austen, seizing the cake; and being seized at the same time, by an unusual and inexplicable tremor of shyness, thrust it at the baby.
Raindrops silvered the pines, and the light winds shook them down on the road in a musical shower. Victoria was troubled, as she drove, over a question which had recurred to her many times since her talk that morning: had she been hypocritical in not telling her father that she had seen more of Austen Vane than she had implied by her silence?
Bascom's little agate eyes glittered in the dim light. "Hello, Austen," he said, "since when have you took to comin' here?" "It's a longer trip from Putnam than from Ripton, Brush," said Austen, and passed on, leaving Mr. Bascom with a puzzled mind. Something very like a smile passed over Mr. Freeman's face as he led the way silently out of a side entrance and around the house.
Austen did not smile. She was speaking quietly, but he saw that she was breathing deeply, and he knew that she possessed a courage which went far beyond that of most women, and an insight into life and affairs. "I am going to find out," she said, "whether these things are true." "And then?" he asked involuntarily.
She felt an accountable attraction for this man who had so strangely come into her life, whose problems had suddenly become her problems. But she did not connect the attraction for Austen Vane with her misery. She recalled him as he had left her, big and strong and sorrowful, with a yearning look that was undisguised, and while her faith in him came surging back again, she could not understand.
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