Mr. Vane let go of the arm contemptuously.

“I’ve done dirty work for the Northeastern for a good many years,” cried Mr. Tooting, seemingly gaining confidence now that he was free; “I’ve slaved for ’em, and what have they done for me?  They wouldn’t even back me for county solicitor when I wanted the job.”

“Turned reformer, Ham?”

“I guess I’ve got as much right to turn reformer as some folks I know.”

“I guess you have,” agreed the Honourable Hilary; unexpectedly.  He seated himself on a chair, and proceeded to regard Mr. Tooting in a manner extremely disconcerting to that gentleman.  This quality of impenetrability, of never being sure when he was angry, had baffled more able opponents of Hilary Vane than Mr. Hamilton Tooting.

“Good-night, Ham.”

“I want to say—­” Mr. Tooting began.

“Good-night, Ham,” said Mr. Vane, once more.

Mr. Tooting looked at him, slowly buttoned up his overcoat, and departed.

CHAPTER XIII

THE REALM OF PEGASUS

The eventful day of Mr. Humphrey Crewe’s speech on national affairs dawned without a cloud in the sky.  The snow was of a dazzling whiteness and sprinkled with diamond dust; and the air of such transcendent clearness that Austen could see—­by leaning a little out of the Widow Peasley’s window—­the powdered top of Holdfast Mountain some thirty miles away.  For once, a glance at the mountain sufficed him; and he directed his gaze through the trees at the Duncan house, engaging in a pleasant game of conjecture as to which was her window.  In such weather the heights of Helicon seemed as attainable as the peak of Holdfast; and he had but to beckon a shining Pegasus from out a sun-shaft in the sky.  Obstacles were mere specks on the snow.

He forgot to close the window, and dressed in a temperature which would have meant, for many mortals, pneumonia.  The events of yesterday; painful and agitating as they had been, had fallen away in the prospect that lay before him—­he would see her to-day, and speak with her.  These words, like a refrain; were humming in his head as honest Mr. Redbrook talked during breakfast, while Austen’s answers may have been both intelligent and humorous.  Mr. Redbrook, at least; gave no sign that they were not.  He was aware that Mr. Redbrook was bringing arguments to bear on the matter of the meeting of the evening before, but he fended these lightly, while in spirit he flung a gem-studded bridle aver the neck of Pegasus.

And after breakfast—­away from the haunts of men!  Away from the bickerings, the subjection of mean spirits; material loss and gain and material passion!  By eight o’clock (the Widow Peasley’s household being an early and orderly one) he was swinging across the long hills, cleaving for himself a furrowed path in the untrodden snow, breathing deep as he gazed across the blue spaces from the crests.  Bellerophon or Perseus, aided by immortals, felt no greater sense of achievements to come than he.  Out here, on the wind-swept hills that rolled onward and upward to the mountains, the world was his.