He bent to kiss her and was shocked by the change in her that was only too apparent: the delicate features were sharpened; the temples sunken; her abundant light brown hair was streaked heavily with white; the hands had grown old, shrunken, the veins prominent.
"Kiss me again, Champney," she said in a low voice, closing her eyes when he bent again to fulfil her request. When she opened them he noticed that the lids were trembling and the corners of her mouth twitched. But she rallied in a moment and said sharply:
"Now, don't say you're sorry—I know all about how I look; but I'm better and expect to outlive a good many well ones yet."
She told Aileen to bring another chair. Champney hastened to forestall her; his aunt shook her finger at him.
"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. I don't know that I can pay you or her a greater compliment."
"Very well said. You've learned all that over there—and a good deal more besides. There have been no folderols in her education. I've made her practical. Come, draw up your chair nearer and tell me something of the Van Ostends and that little Alice who was the means of Aileen's coming to me. I hear she is growing to be a beauty."
"Beauty—well, I shouldn't say she was that, not yet; but 'little.' She is fully five feet six inches with the prospect of an additional inch."
"I didn't realize it. When are they coming home?"