"Mrs. Champney told me—and then I knew she liked him."
"Who, the Marchioness?"
"Yes; I knew by the way she wrote about him that she liked him."
"Well, now, who'd 'a' thought that! The very same B'y!" she exclaimed, at the same time looking puzzled as if not quite grasping the situation. "Why, I thought—I guess 't was Romanzo wrote me just about that time—that she was in love with Mr. Champney Googe." Her voice sank to a whisper on the last words. "Wouldn't it have been just awful if she had!"
"She might have done a worse thing than to love him." Aileen's voice was hard in spite of her effort to speak naturally.
Maggie broke forth in protest.
"Now, how can you say that, Aileen! What would the poor gell's life have been worth married to a man that's in for seven years! Jim says when he comes out he can't niver vote again for prisident, an' it's ten chanct to wan that he'll get a job."
In her earnestness she failed to notice that Aileen's face had borrowed its whiteness from the muslin over which she was bending.
"Aileen—"
"Yes, Maggie."