"I mean what I say. 'T was in August seven years ago—but p'r'aps you don't remember," he said. His sarcasm was intentional.
She made no reply, but smiled to herself—a smile so exasperating to Octavius that he sulked a few minutes in silence. After another eighth of a mile, she spoke with apparent interest:
"What makes you think Mrs. Champney wants to see Father Honoré about her nephew?"
"Because it looks that way. This afternoon, when you was out, she got me to move Mr. Louis' picture from the library to her room, and I had to hang it on the wall opposite her bed—" Octavius paused—"I believe she don't think she'll last long, and she don't look as if she could either. Last week she had Emlie up putting a codicil to her will. The nurse told me she was one of the witnesses, she and Emlie and the doctor—catch her letting me see any of her papers!" He reined into the road that led to the sheds.
"I hope to God she'll do him justice this time," he spoke aloud, but evidently to himself.
"How do you mean, Tave?"
"I mean by giving him what's his by rights; that's what I mean." He spoke emphatically.
"He wouldn't be the man I think he is if he ever took a cent from her—not after what she did!" she exclaimed hotly.
Octavius turned and looked at her in amazement.
"That's the first time I ever heard you speak up for Champney Googe, an' I've known you since before you knew him. Well, it's better late than never." He spoke with a degree of satisfaction in his tone that did not escape Aileen. "Which door shall I leave you at?"