But what a comment, she could not help reflecting, on her own charms! What an end to an ideal union that had seemed destined to last all their days! She, Aileen Butler, who in her youth had deemed herself the peer of any girl in charm, force, beauty, to be shoved aside thus early in her life--she was only forty--by the younger generation. And such silly snips as they were--Stephanie Platow! and Cecily Haguenin! and Florence Cochrane, in all likelihood another pasty-faced beginner! And here she was--vigorous, resplendent, smooth of face and body, her forehead, chin, neck, eyes without a wrinkle, her hair a rich golden reddish glow, her step springing, her weight no more than one hundred and fifty pounds for her very normal height, with all the advantages of a complete toilet cabinet, jewels, clothing, taste, and skill in material selection--being elbowed out by these upstarts. It was almost unbelievable. It was so unfair. Life was so cruel, Cowperwood so temperamentally unbalanced. Dear God! to think that this should be true! Why should he not love her? She studied her beauty in the mirror from time to time, and raged and raged. Why was her body not sufficient for him? Why should he deem any one more beautiful? Why should he not be true to his reiterated protestations that he cared for her? Other men were true to other women. Her father had been faithful to her mother. At the thought of her own father and his opinion of her conduct she winced, but it did not change her point of view as to her present rights. See her hair! See her eyes! See her smooth, resplendent arms! Why should Cowperwood not love her? Why, indeed?
One night, shortly afterward, she was sitting in her boudoir reading, waiting for him to come home, when the telephone-bell sounded and he informed her that he was compelled to remain at the office late. Afterward he said he might be obliged to run on to Pittsburg for thirty-six hours or thereabouts; but he would surely be back on the third day, counting the present as one. Aileen was chagrined. Her voice showed it. They had been scheduled to go to dinner with the Hoecksemas, and afterward to the theater.
Cowperwood suggested that she should go alone, but Aileen declined rather sharply; she hung up the receiver without even the pretense of a good-by. And then at ten o'clock he telephoned again, saying that he had changed his mind, and that if she were interested to go anywhere--a later supper, or the like--she should dress, otherwise he would come home expecting to remain.
Aileen immediately concluded that some scheme he had had to amuse himself had fallen through. Having spoiled her evening, he was coming home to make as much hay as possible out of this bit of sunshine. This infuriated her. The whole business of uncertainty in the matter of his affections was telling on her nerves. A storm was in order, and it had come. He came bustling in a little later, slipped his arms around her as she came forward and kissed her on the mouth. He smoothed her arms in a make-believe and yet tender way, and patted her shoulders. Seeing her frown, he inquired, "What's troubling Babykins?"
"Oh, nothing more than usual," replied Aileen, irritably. "Let's not talk about that. Have you had your dinner?"
"Yes, we had it brought in." He was referring to McKenty, Addison, and himself, and the statement was true. Being in an honest position for once, he felt called upon to justify himself a little.
"It couldn't be avoided to-night. I'm sorry that this business takes up so much of my time, but I'll get out of it some day soon.
Things are bound to ease up."
Aileen withdrew from his embrace and went to her dressing-table.
A glance showed her that her hair was slightly awry, and she smoothed it into place. She looked at her chin, and then went back to her book--rather sulkily, he thought.
"Now, Aileen, what's the trouble?" he inquired. "Aren't you glad to have me up here? I know you have had a pretty rough road of it of late, but aren't you willing to let bygones be bygones and trust to the future a little?"
"The future! The future! Don't talk to me about the future. It's little enough it holds in store for me," she replied.
Cowperwood saw that she was verging on an emotional storm, but he trusted to his powers of persuasion, and her basic affection for him, to soothe and quell her.
"I wish you wouldn't act this way, pet," he went on. "You know I have always cared for you. You know I always shall. I'll admit that there are a lot of little things which interfere with my being at home as much as I would like at present; but that doesn't alter the fact that my feeling is the same. I should think you could see that."
