Chapter 9

For several weeks after her nephew's visit, Mrs. Champney occupied many of her enforced leisure half-hours in trying to put two and two together in their logical combination of four; but thus far she had failed. She learned through Octavius that Champney had returned to New York on Saturday evening; that in consequence he was obliged to give up the cruise with the Van Ostends; from Champney himself she had no word. Her conclusion was that there had been no chance for him to see Aileen during the twelve hours he was in town, for the girl came home as requested shortly before six, but with a headache, and the excuse for it that she had rowed too far in the sun on the way up to the sheds.

"My nephew told me he was going to row up to the sheds, too—did you happen to meet him there?" she inquired. She was studying the profile of the girl's flushed and sunburned face. Aileen had just said good night and was about to leave Mrs. Champney's room. She turned quickly to face her. She spoke with sharp emphasis:

"I did not meet your nephew at the sheds, Mrs. Champney, nor did I see him there—and I'll thank you, after what you said to me this morning, to draw no more conclusions in regard to your nephew's seeing or meeting me at the sheds or anywhere else—it's not worth your while; for I've no desire either to see or meet him again. Perhaps this will satisfy you." She left the room at once without giving Mrs. Champney time to reply.

A self-satisfied smile drew apart Mrs. Champney's thin lips; evidently the girl's lesson was a final and salutary one. She would know her place after this. She determined not to touch on this subject again with Aileen; she might run the risk of going too far, and she desired to keep her with her as long as possible. But she noticed that the singing voice was heard less and less frequently about the house and grounds. Octavius also noticed it, and missed it.

"Aileen, you don't sing as much as you did a while ago—what's the matter?" he asked her one day in October when she joined him to go up street after supper on an errand.

"Matter?—I've sung out for one while; I'm taking a rest-cure with my voice, Tave."

"It ain't the kind of rest-cure that'll agree with you, nor I guess any of us at Champo. There ain't no trouble with her that's bothering you?" He pointed with a backward jerk of his thumb to the house.

"No."

"She's acted mad ever since I told her Champney had to go back that night and tend to business; guess she'd set her heart on his making a match on that yachting cruise—well, 't would be all in the family, seeing there's Champney blood in the Van Ostends, good blood too,—there's no better," he added emphatically.

"Oh, Tave, you're always blowing the Champneys' horn—"

"And why shouldn't I?"—he was decidedly nettled. "The Champneys are my folks, my townspeople, the founders of this town, and their interests have always been mine—why shouldn't I speak up for 'em, I'd like to know? You won't find no better blood in the United States than the Champneys'."

Aileen made no reply; she was looking up the street to Poggi's fruit stall, where beneath a street light she saw a crowd of men from the quarries.

"Romanzo said there was some trouble in the sheds—do you know what it is?" she asked.

"No, I can't get at the rights of it; they didn't get paid off last week, so Romanzo told me last night, but he said Champney telegraphed he'd fix it all right in another week. He says dollars are scarce just at this time—crops moving, you know, and market dull."

She laughed a little scornfully. "You seem to think Mr. Googe can fix everything all right, Tave."

"Champney's no fool; he's 'bout as interested in this home work as anybody, and if he says it'll be all right, you may bet your life it will be—There's Jo Quimber coming; p'raps he's heard something and can tell us."

"What's that crowd up to, Uncle Jo?" said Aileen, linking her arm in the old man's and making him right about face to walk on with them.

"Talkin' a strike. I heerd 'em usin' Champ's name mighty free, Tave, just now—guess he'd better come home an' calm 'em down some, or there'll be music in the air thet this town never danced to yet. By A. J., it riles me clear through to hear 'em!"

"You can't blame them for wanting their pay, Uncle Jo." There was a challenge in the girl's voice which Uncle Jo immediately accepted.

"So ye've j'ined the majority in this town, hev ye, Aileen? I don't say ez I'm blamin' anybody fer wantin' his pay; I'm jest sayin' it don't set well on me the way they go at it to get it. How's the quickest way to git up a war, eh? Jest keep talkin' it up—talkin' it up, an' it's sure to come. They don't give a man like Champ a chance—talkin' behind his back and usin' a good old Flamsted name ez ef 't wuz a mop rag!" Joel's indignation got the better of his discretion; his voice was so loud that it began to attract the attention of some men who were leaving Poggi's; the crowd was rapidly dispersing.

"Sh—Joel! they'll hear you. You've been standing up for everything foreign that's come into this town for the last seven years—what's come over you that you're going back on all your preaching?"

"I ain't goin' back on nothin'," the old man replied testily; "but a man's a man, I don't keer whether he's a Polack or a 'Merican—I don't keer nothin' 'bout thet; but ef he's a man he knows he'd oughter stop backbitin' and hittin' out behind another man's back—he'd oughter come out inter the open an' say, 'You ain't done the right thing by me, now let's both hev it out', instead of growlin' and grumblin' an' spittin' out such all-fired nonsense 'bout the syndicaters and Champ—what's Champ got to do with it, anyway? He can't make money for 'em."

The crowds were surging past them; the men were talking together; their confused speech precluded the possibility of understanding what was said.

"He's no better than other men, Uncle Jo," the girl remarked after the men had passed. She laughed as she spoke, but the laugh was not a pleasant one; it roused Octavius.

"Now, look here, Aileen, you stop right where you are—"

She interrupted him, and her voice was again both merry and pleasant, for they were directly opposite Luigi's shop: "I'm going to, Tave; I'm going to stop right here; Mrs. Champney sent me down on purpose to get some of those late peaches Luigi keeps; she said she craved them, and I'm going in this very minute to get them—"

She waved her hand to both and entered the shop.

Old Quimber caught Octavius by the arm to detain him a moment before he himself retraced his steps up street.

"What d'ye think, Tave?—they goin' to make a match on't, she an' Poggi? I see 'm together a sight."

"You can't tell 'bout Aileen any more'n a weather-cock. She might go farther and fare worse."

"Thet's so, Tave; Poggi's a man, an' a credit to our town. I guess from all I hear Romanzo's 'bout give it up, ain't he?"

"Romanzo never had a show with Aileen," Octavius said decidedly; "he ain't her kind."

"Guess you're right, Tave—By A. J. there they go now!" He nudged Octavius with his elbow. Octavius, who had passed the shop and was standing on the sidewalk with old Quimber, saw the two leave it and walk slowly in the direction of The Bow. He listened for the sound of Aileen's merry laugh and chat, but he heard nothing. His grave face at once impressed Joel.

"Something's up 'twixt those two, eh, Tave?" he whispered.

Octavius nodded in reply; he was comprehending all that old man's words implied. He bade Quimber good night and walked on to The Greenbush. The Colonel found him more taciturn than usual that evening....

"I can't, Luigi,—I can't marry you," she answered almost irritably. The two were nearing the entrance to Champo; the Italian was pleading his cause. "I can't—so don't say anything more about it."

"But, Aileen, I will wait—I can wait; I've waited so long already. I believe I began to love you through that knothole, you remember?"

"I haven't forgotten;" she half smiled at the remembrance; "but that seems so long ago, and things have changed so—I've changed, Luigi."

The tone of her voice was hard. Luigi looked at her in surprise.

"What has changed you, Aileen? Tell me—can't you trust me?"

"Luigi!"—she faced him suddenly, looking straight up into his handsome face that turned white as he became aware that what she was about to say was final—"I'd give anything if I could say to you what you want me to—you deserve all my love, if I could only give it to you, for you are faithful and true, and mean what you say—it would be the best thing for me, I know; but I can't, Luigi; I've nothing to give, and it would be living a lie to you from morning till night to give you less than you deserve. I only blame myself that I'm not enough like other girls to know a good man when I see him, and take his love with a thankful heart that it's mine—but it's no use—don't blame me for being myself—" Her lips trembled; she bit the lower one white in her effort to steady it.

For a moment Luigi made no reply. Suddenly he leaned towards her—she drew away from him quickly—and said between his teeth, all the long-smouldering fire of southern passion, passion that is founded on jealousy, glowing in his eyes:

"Tell me, Aileen Armagh, is there another man you love?—tell me—"

Rag who had been with her all the afternoon moved with a quick threatening motion to her side and a warning gurr—rrrr for the one who should dare to touch her.

"No." She spoke defiantly. Luigi straightened himself. Rag sprang upon her fawning and caressing; she shoved him aside roughly, for the dog was at that moment but the scapegoat for his master; Rag cowered at her feet.

"Ah—" It was a long-drawn breath of relief. Luigi Poggi's eyes softened; the fire in them ceased to leap and blaze; something like hope brightened them.

"I could bear anything but that—I was afraid—" He hesitated.

"Afraid of what?" She caught up his words sharply, and began to walk rapidly up the driveway.

He answered slowly: "I was afraid you were in love with Mr. Googe—I saw you once out rowing with him—early one morning—"

"I in love with Mr. Googe!" she echoed scornfully, "you needn't ever be afraid of that; I—I hate him!"

Luigi stared at her in amazement. He scarce could keep pace with her rapid walk that was almost a run. Her cheeks were aflame; her eyes filled with tears. All her pent up wretchedness of the last two months, all her outraged love, her womanhood's humiliation, a sense of life's bitter injustice and of her impotence to avenge the wrong put upon her affections, found vent in these three words. And Luigi, seeing Aileen Armagh changed into something that an hour before he would not have believed possible, was gripped by a sudden fear,—he must know the truth for his own peace of mind,—and, under its influence, he laid his hand on her arm and brought her to a standstill.

Rag snarled another warning; Aileen thrust him aside with her foot.

"What has he done to you to make you hate him so?"

Because he spoke slowly, Aileen thought he was speaking calmly. Had she not been carried away by her own strength of feeling, she would have known that she might not risk the answer she gave him.

"Done to me?—nothing; what could he do?—but I hate him—I never want to see his face again!"

She was beside herself with anger and shame. It was the tone of Luigi's voice that brought her to her senses; in a flash she recalled Octavius Buzzby's warning about playing with "volcanic fires." It was too late, however, to recall her words.

"Luigi, I've said too much; you don't understand—now let's drop it." She drew away her arm from beneath his hand, and resumed her rapid walk up the driveway, Rag trotting after her.

"And you mean what you say—you never want to see him again?" He spoke again slowly.

"Never," she said firmly.

Luigi made no reply. They were nearing the house. She turned to him when they reached the steps.

"Luigi,"—she put out her hand and he took it in both his,—"forget what I've said about another and forgive me for what I've had to say to yourself—we've always been such good friends, that now—"

She was ready with the smile that captivated him, but it was a tremulous one for she smiled through tears; she was thinking of the contrast.

"And always will be, Aileen, when we both know for good and all that we can be nothing more to each other," he answered gently.

She was grateful to him; but she turned away and went up the steps without saying good-bye.