“You have been winning laurels since I saw you last summer,” she said.  “I hear incidentally you have made our friend Zeb Meader a rich man.”

“As riches go, in the town of Mercer,” Austen laughed.  “As for my laurels, they have not yet begun to chafe.”

Here was a topic he would have avoided, and yet he was curious to discover what her attitude would be.  He had antagonized her father, and the fact that he was the son of Hilary Vane had given his antagonism prominence.

“I am glad you did it for Zeb.”

“I should have done it for anybody—­much as I like Zeb,” he replied briefly.

She glanced at him.

“It was—­courageous of you,” she said.

“I have never looked upon it in that light,” he answered.  “May I ask you how you heard of it?”

She coloured, but faced the question.

“I heard it from my father, at first, and I took an interest—­on Zeb Meader’s account,” she added hastily.

Austen was silent.

“Of course,” she continued, “I felt a little like boasting of an ‘accidental acquaintance’ with the man who saved Zeb Meader’s life.”

Austen laughed.  Then he drew Pepper down to a walk, and turned to her.

“The power of making it more than an accidental acquaintance lies with you,” he said quietly.

“I have always had an idea that aggression was a man’s prerogative,” Victoria answered lightly.  “And seeing that you have not appeared at Fairview for something over a year, I can only conclude that you do not choose to exercise it in this case.”

Austen was in a cruel quandary.

“I did wish to come,” he answered simply, “but—­the fact that I have had a disagreement with your father has—­made it difficult.”  “Nonsense” exclaimed Victoria; “just because you have won a suit against his railroad.  You don’t know my father, Mr. Vane.  He isn’t the kind of man with whom that would make any difference.  You ought to talk it over with him.  He thinks you were foolish to take Zeb Meader’s side.”

“And you?” Austen demanded quickly.

“You see, I’m a woman,” said Victoria, “and I’m prejudiced—­for Zeb Meader.  Women are always prejudiced,—­that’s our trouble.  It seemed to me that Zeb was old, and unfortunate, and ought to be compensated, since he is unable to work.  But of course I suppose I can’t be expected to understand.”

It was true that she could not be expected to understand.  He might not tell her that his difference with Mr. Flint was not a mere matter of taking a small damage suit against his railroad, but a fundamental one.  And Austen recognized that the justification of his attitude meant an arraignment of Victoria’s father.