The girl took her seat again by the window. Her work lay in her lap; her hands were folded above it; her face was turned to the Flamsted Hills. "Would he come soon? When and where could she see him again, and alone?" Her thoughts were busy with conjecture. Octavius recrossing the terrace called out to her: "You going up to Mrs. Caukins' later on this afternoon?" "Yes; Mrs. Champney said she didn't need me." "I'll take you up." "Thank you, Tave, not to-day. I'm going to row up as far as the upper shed. I promised the twins to meet them there; they want to see the new travelling crane at work. We'll go up afterwards to The Gore together." "It's pretty hot, but I guess you're all three seasoned by this time." "Through and through, Tave; and I'm not coming home till after supper--it's lovely then--there's Mrs. Champney coming!" She heard her step in the upper hall and ran upstairs to assist her in coming down. "Will you go out on the terrace now?" she asked her on entering the library. "I'll wait a while; it's too warm at this hour." Aileen drew Mrs. Champney's arm chair to the other casement window. She resumed her seat and work. "How are you getting on with the napkins?" the mistress of Champ-au-Haut inquired after a quarter of an hour's silence in which she was busied with some letters. "Fine--see?" She held up a corner for her inspection. "This is the tenth; I shall soon be ready for the big table cloth." "Bring them to me." Aileen obeyed, and showed her the monogram, A C, wrought by her own deft fingers in the finest linen. "There's no one like a Frenchwoman to teach embroidery; you've done them credit." Aileen dropped a mock courtesy. "Which one taught you?" "Sister Ste. Croix." "Is she the little wrinkled one?" "Yes, but I've fallen in love with every wrinkle, she's a perfect dear--" "I didn't imply she wasn't." Mrs. Champney was apt to snap out at Aileen when, according to her idea, she was "gushing" too much. The girl had ceased to mind this; she was used to it, especially during her three years of attendance on this invalid. "Who designed this monogram?" "She did; she can draw beautifully." Mrs. Champney put on her glasses to examine in detail the exquisite lettering, A C. Aileen leaned above her, smiling to herself. How many loving thoughts were wrought into those same initials! How many times, while her fingers were busy fashioning them, she had planned to make just such for her very own! How often, as she wrought, she had laid her lips to the A C, murmuring to herself over and over again, "Aileen--Champney, Champney--Aileen," so filling and satisfying with the sound of this pleasing combination her every loving anticipation! She was only waiting for the "word", schooling herself in these last six weeks to wait patiently for it--the "word" which should make these special letters her legitimate own!