“Mighty good luck to be young, Dick,” the “Governor” had said, and died, calling his life on the whole satisfactory, on account of the good times he had had, and the work that he knew he had done as it should be done.
Hennion thought he would go and tell Camilla about the Boulevard. He caught a car and went back to the centre of the town.
When he came to the Champney house late in the evening, Alcott Aidee was there, though about to leave. It struck Hennion that Aidee's being about to leave was not an absolute compensation for his being there, but he did not have time to examine the impression. Camilla had been reading Charlie Carroll's sinister paragraphs on “a certain admired instigator of crime.” She dashed into the subject as soon as Aidee was gone.
“He says he doesn't care about it,” she cried, “but I do!”
“Do you? Why?”
“Why!”
Camilla paused, either from stress of feeling or inability altogether to say why. Hennion had seen the paragraphs, but had not thought about them.
“Well, if you mean it's not just, Milly, I don't suppose Carroll ever bothers about that. There's a good deal of give and take in politics. Aidee has given it pretty sharply himself. I dare say he knows how to take it.”
“It's wicked!” cried Camilla passionately.
Hennion laughed.