d so far as she knew there was no opportunity for Aileen to see her
nephew more than once and in her presence. She managed matters in such a
way that Aileen's services were in continual demand during Champney's
two days' stay in his native town.

But after that visit in July, the singing voice was heard ringing
joyfully at all times of the day in the house and about the grounds of
The Bow. Sometimes the breeze brought it to Octavius from across the
lake waters--Luigi's was no longer with it--and he pitied the girl
sincerely because the desire of her heart, the cultivation of such a
voice, was denied her. Mrs. Champney, also, heard the clear voice,
which, in this the girl's twentieth year, was increasing in volume and
sweetness, carolling the many songs in Irish, English, French and
Italian. She marvelled at the light-heartedness and, at the same time,
wondered if, now that Romanzo Caukins could no longer hope, Aileen would
show enough common sense to accept Luigi Poggi in due time, and through
him make for herself an established place in Flamsted. Not that she was
yet ready to part with her--far from it. She was too useful a member of
the Champ-au-Haut household. Still, if it were to be Poggi in the end,
she felt she could control matters to the benefit of all concerned,
herself primarily. She was pleasing herself with the idea of such
prospective control of Aileen's matrimonial interests one afternoon,
just after Champney's flying visit in July, when she rose from her chair
beneath the awning and, to try her strength, made her way slowly along
the terrace to the library windows; they were French casements and one
of them had swung outwards noiselessly in the breeze. She was about to
step through, when she saw Aileen standing on the hearth before the
portrait of Louis Champney. She was gazing up at it, her face illumined
by the same lovely light that, a year before, had betrayed her secret to
the faded but observant eyes of Louis Champney's widow.

This was enough; the mistress of Champ-au-Haut was again on her
guard--and well she might be, for Aileen Armagh was in possession of the
knowledge that Champney Googe loved her. In joyful anticipation she was
waiting for the word which, spoken by him when he should be again in
Flamsted, was to make her future both fair and blest.

VI

In entering on his business life in New York, Champney Googe, like many
another man, failed to take into account the "minus quantities" in