The woman, never prepared for a climax, rose from her pillows. "Take rooms at the Archangel! leave you unchaperoned!" she cried in blunt dismay. "Why, Isabel Doan, what are you thinking of?"
"I should not be alone," the niece answered. "My old French governess, Madame Sabot, is begging to come to California. By this time she is doubtless an ogress, well able to guard me."
A hot wave of suspicion swept the aunt's countenance.
"For that small matter," cried Miss Lewis, "I might do as well as madame. Take me for your chaperone! won't you, dear? I should love to act in the capacity. You know, a mere infant companion is all that is necessary nowadays—the best of form. And I am positively old, older than yourself," she coolly owned. Miss Lewis rose from her chair with vanishing hopes of Ned Hartley's continued devotion. The boy was heeding Isabel's slightest word.
"You must over think my application," she jested. "If Mrs. Grace decides to join mother at the Archangel I shall certainly hope to displace your French ogress. Meantime, we must be going. I have asked a man from the city to dinner; he will put in an appearance before I am fit. So sorry we cannot stop to see the boy in his nest. I understand he slumbers on a roof top—under the stars—like every one else out here. Isn't sleeping out of doors a fad? So admirable for the complexion! Really one might leave the country with a decent bank balance, if only one had nerve to rent an oak tree instead of rooms in a hotel." She chattered gaily above the others, to the verge of the waiting car.
While the machine gathered power, Ned Hartley hung on Isabel's promise just gained. "To-morrow—to-morrow at three," he impressed again. Miss Lewis heard his invitation, then blew the horn with ironic smile.
CHAPTER XIV
Mrs. Grace had not accompanied the departing guests to the door. As the machine sped away Isabel realized her aunt's displeasure and braced against a scene. The time for plain words had arrived. She went slowly into the living-room, building up as best she could a line of defense for certain attack. By the glow of a wood fire, wreathing flame up the wide chimney, she saw her aunt's face; it was pale and tense with suspicion. Hate for the man, once her idolized confessor, had transformed the carefully preserved woman into one far from attractive. She seemed to gather vituperative force beyond her strength, for suddenly she stopped pacing the room to sink to a chair. Isabel turned, frightened.
"Aunt Julia! Aunt Julia, what is the matter?" She spoke, running forward.