Victoria laughed at his expressive phrase, and crossed the road, and sat down on the edge of the lumber pile, in the shade.
"There seems to be nothing to do but wait," she said, "and to thank you again. Will you tell me your name?"
Her colour, always so near the surface, rose a little as she regarded him. So this was Austen Vane's particular friend, whom he had tried to put out of his window. A Herculean task, Victoria thought, from Tom's appearance. Tom sat down within a few feet of her.
"I've seen you a good many times, Miss Flint," he remarked, applying the handkerchief to his face.
"And I've seen you--once, Mr. Gaylord," some mischievous impulse prompted her to answer. Perhaps the impulse was more deep-seated, after all.
"Where?" demanded Tom, promptly.
"You were engaged," said Victoria, "in a struggle in a window on Ripton Square. It looked, for a time," she continued, "as if you were going to be dropped on the roof of the porch."
Tom gazed at her in confusion and surprise.