"This morning."
"Isn't it rather unexpected?" She glanced sideways rather sharply at him.
"My coming here is; I'm really on my way to Bar Harbor. The Van Ostends are off on Tuesday with a large party and I promised to go with them."
"So Alice wrote me the other day. It's the first letter I have had from her. She says she is coming here on her way home in October, that she's 'just crazy' to see Flamsted Quarries—but I can read between the lines even if my eyes are old." She smiled significantly.
Champney felt that an answering smile was the safe thing in the circumstances. He wondered how much Aunt Meda knew from the Van Ostends. That she was astute in business matters was no guaranty that she would prove far-sighted in matrimonial affairs.
"I've known Alice so long that she's gotten into the habit of taking me for granted—not that I object," he added with a glance in the direction of the boat house. Mrs. Champney, whom nothing escaped, noticed it.
"I should hope not," she said emphatically. "I may as well tell you, Champney, that Mr. Van Ostend has not hesitated to write me of your continued attentions to Alice and your frankness with him in regard to the outcome of this. So far as I see, his only objection could be on account of her extreme youth—I congratulate you." She spoke with great apparent sincerity.
"Thank you, Aunt Meda," he said quietly; "your congratulations are premature, and the subject so far as Alice and I are concerned is taboo for three years—at Mr. Van Ostend's special request."
"Quite right—a girl doesn't know her own mind before she is twenty-five."
"Faith, I know one who knows her own mind on all subjects at twenty!"—he laughed heartily as if at some amusing remembrance—"and that's Aileen; by the way, where is she, Aunt Meda?"