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"Mother, don't you think Aunt Meda might open her purse and do something for Aileen Armagh now that the girl has been faithful to her interests so long?" He had remained at home since his arrival in the morning, and was now about to drive down into the town. His mother looked up from her sewing in surprise. "What put that into your mind?
She made room for him on the ample seat; he sprang in, and bent to kiss her before sitting down beside her. "Now, I call this luck. This is as good as a confessional, small and dark, and 'fess I've got to, Aunt Meda, or there'll be trouble for somebody at Campo."
"A little talk more or less after all there has been about the quarry won't do any harm, and I'm used to it." She spoke with some bitterness. "It has stirred up a hornet's nest about your ears, that's a fact. How does Aunt Meda take this latest move? Meat-axey as usual? I didn't see her when I went there yesterday; she's in Hallsport for two days on business, so Tave says." His mother smiled.
At any rate, Aileen had wit enough, he was sure, to know on which side her bread was buttered, and from all he heard by the way of letters, Romanzo Caukins was not to be sneezed at as a prospective husband a steady-going, solid sort of a chap who, he was told, had a chance now like himself in the quarry business. He must credit Aunt Meda with this one bit of generosity, at least; Mr.
"Don't begin by spoiling her," she said. Then she bade her make ready the little round tea-table on the terrace and serve tea. "What do you think of her?" she asked him after Aileen had entered the house. She spoke with a directness of speech that warned Champney the question was a cloak to some other thought on her part. "That she does you credit, Aunt Meda.
Tave said he didn't expect Aunt Meda before to-morrow night, and it's a good time for me to rubber round the old place a little on my own hook; and, mother," he stooped to her; Aurora Googe raised her still beautiful eyes to the frank if somewhat hard blue ones that looked down into hers; a fine color mounted into her cheeks, "take the priest for his meals, for all me.
"Well, of course, he's your dog," she said loftily, so evading the question and ignoring the laugh at her expense. "Yes, he's my dog if he is a backslider, and that settles it." He turned to his aunt. "I'll run in again to-morrow, Aunt Meda, I mustn't wear my welcome out in the first two days of my return." "Yes, do come in when you can. I suppose you will be here a month or two?"
"That you will never, never, in any circumstances, apply to your Aunt Almeda for funds, no matter how much you may want them. I couldn't bear that!" She spoke passionately in earnest, with such depth of feeling that she did not realize her son was not giving her the promise when he said abruptly, the somewhat hard blue eyes looking straight into hers: "Mother, why are you so hard on Aunt Meda?
Champney alone on the terrace; she was sitting under the ample awning that protected her from the sun but was open on all sides for air. "All alone, Aunt Meda?" he inquired cheerfully, taking a seat beside her. "Yes; when did you come?" "This morning." "Isn't it rather unexpected?" She glanced sideways rather sharply at him. "My coming here is; I'm really on my way to Bar Harbor.
"She's the very one," he said to himself; "I wonder if Aunt Meda knows." That which proves momentous in our lives is rarely anticipated, seldom calculated. Its factors are for the most part unknown quantities; if not prime in themselves they are, at least, prime to each other. It cannot be measured in terms of time, for often it lies between two infinities.
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