To Aurora Googe, the mother of her imaginative ideal, Aileen, attracted from the first by her beauty and motherly kindness towards an orphan waif, gave a child's demonstrative love, afterwards a girl's adoration. In all this devotion she was abetted by Elvira Caukins to whom Aurora Googe had always been an ideal of womanhood. Moreover, Aileen came to know during these years of Champney Googe's absence that his mother worshipped in reality where she herself worshipped in imagination. Thus the ground was made ready for the seed. Small wonder that the flowering of love in this warm Irish heart was immediate, when Champney Googe, on the second day after his home-coming, questioned her with that careless challenge in his eyes: "You wouldn't?" * * * * * The sun set before she left the boat house. She ran up the steps to the terrace and, not finding Mrs. Champney there, sought her in the house. She found her in the library, seated in her easy chair which she had turned to face the portrait of her husband, over the fireplace. "Why didn't you call me to help you in, Mrs. Champney? I blame myself for not coming sooner." "I really feel stronger and thought I might as well try it; there is always a first time--and you were with Champney, weren't you?" "I? Why no--what made you think that?" Mrs. Champney noticed the slight hesitation before the question was put so indifferently, and the quick red that mounted in the girl's cheeks. "Mr. Googe went off half an hour ago with Rag tagging on behind." "Then he conquered as usual." "I don't know whether I should call it 'conquering' or not; Rag didn't want to go, that was plain enough to see." "What made him go then?" Aileen laughed out. "That's just what I'd like to know myself." "What do you think of him?" "Who?--Rag or Mr. Googe?" She was always herself with Mrs. Champney, and her daring spirit of mischief rarely gave offence to the mistress of Champ-au-Haut. But by the tone of voice in which she answered, Aileen knew that, without intention, she had irritated her. "You know perfectly well whom I mean--my nephew, Mr. Googe." Aileen was silent for a moment. Her young secret was her own to guard from all eyes, and especially from all unfriendly ones. She was standing on the hearth, in front of Mrs. Champney. Turning her head slightly she looked up at the portrait of the man above her--looked upon almost the very lineaments of him whom at that very moment her young heart was adoring: the fine features, the blue eyes, the level brows, the firm curving lips, the abundant brown hair. It was as if Champney Googe himself were smiling down upon her. As she continued to look, the lovely light in the girl's face--a light reflected from no sunset fires over the Flamsted Hills, but from the sunrise of girlhood's first love--betrayed her to the faded watchful eyes beside her.