"Certainly."
He went into the house and telephoned. He did not think it necessary to return and report Mrs. Caukins' reply that Aileen "hadn't come up yet." He went directly to the boat house, wondering in the mean time where she was.
One of the two boats was already gone; doubtless she had taken it—where could she be?
He stepped into the boat, and pulled slowly out into the lake, keeping in the lee of the rocky peninsula of The Bow. He was fairly well satisfied with his effort in Aileen's behalf and with himself because he had taken a first step in the right direction. Neither his mother nor Aunt Meda could say now that he was not disinterested; if Father Honoré came over, as was his custom, to chat with him on the porch for an hour or two in the evening, he would broach the subject again to him who was the girl's best friend. If she could go to Europe there would be less danger—
Danger?—Yes; he was willing to admit it, less danger for them both; three years of absence would help materially in this matter in which he felt himself too deeply involved. Then, in the very face of this acknowledgment, he could not help a thought that whitened his cheek as it formulated itself instantaneously in his consciousness: if she were three years in Europe, there would be opportunity for him to see her sometime.
He knew the thought could not be uttered in the girl's pure presence; yet, with many others, he held that a woman, if she loves a man absorbingly, passionately, is capable of any sacrifice—would she? Hardly; she was so high-spirited, so pure in thought—yet she loved him, and after all love was the great Subduer. But no—it could never be; this was his decision. He rowed out into the lake.
Why must a man's action prove so often the slave of his thought!
He was passing the arm of Mesantic that leads to "lily-pad reach". He turned to look up the glinting curve. Was she there?—should he seek her?
He backed water on the instant. The boat responded like a live thing, quivered, came to a partial rest—stopped, undulating on the surface roughened by the powerful leverage of the oars. Champney sat motionless, the dripping blades suspended over the water. He knew that in all probability the girl was there in "lily-pad reach". Should he seek her? Should he go?—Should he?
The hands that held the steady oars quivered suddenly, then gripped them as in a vise; the man's face flushed; he bent to the right oar, the craft whirled half way on her keel; the other oar fell—swiftly and powerfully the boat shot ahead up "lily-pad reach".