She had spoken but once of
her nephew in a personal way to Aileen since she asked that question a
year ago, "What do you think of him?"

"I mean what I say." Her voice took on an added shrillness. "Your
infatuation for my nephew has been patent for a year now--and it's time
you should be brought to your senses; I can't suppose you're fool enough
to think he'll marry you."

Aileen set her lips close. After all, it was not best to answer this
woman as she deserved to be answered. She controlled the increasing
anger so far as to be able to smile frankly and answer lightly:

"You've no need to worry, Mrs. Champney; your nephew has never asked me
to be his wife."

"His wife!" she echoed scornfully; "I should say not; and let me tell
you for your own benefit--sometime you'll thank me for it--and mark my
words, Aileen Armagh, he never will ask you to be his wife, and the
sooner you accept this unvarnished truth the better it will be for you.
I suppose you think because you've led Romanzo Caukins and young Poggi a
chase, you can do the same with Champney Googe--but you'll find out your
mistake; such men aren't led--they lead. He is going to marry Alice Van
Ostend."

"Do you _know_ this for a fact, Mrs. Champney?" She turned upon her
sharply. She was, at last, at bay; her eyes were dark with anger; her
lips and cheeks white.

"It's like you to fly off at a tangent, Aileen, and doubt a person's
word simply because it happens to contain an unpleasant truth for
you--here is the proof," she held up a letter; "it's from my cousin,
Henry Van Ostend; he has written it out in black and white that my
nephew has already asked for his daughter's hand. Now disabuse your mind
of any notion you may have in regard to Champney Googe--I hope you won't
disgrace yourself by crying for the moon after this."

The girl's eyes fairly blazed upon her.

"Mrs. Champney, after this I'll thank you to keep your advice and your
family affairs to yourself--_I_ didn't ask for either. And you've no
need to tell me I'm only Aileen Armagh--for I know it perfectly well.
I'm only an orphan you took into your home seven years ago and have
kept, so far, for her service. But if I am only this, I am old enough to
do and act as I please--and now you may mark _my_ words: it's not I who
will disgrace you and yours--not I, remember that!" Her anger threatened
to choke her; but her voice although husky remained low, never rising
above its level inflection. "And l