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_ This definite and final understanding having been reached, it
was but natural that this liaison should proceed to a closer and
closer relationship. Despite her religious upbringing, Aileen was
decidedly a victim of her temperament. Current religious feeling
and belief could not control her. For the past nine or ten years
there had been slowly forming in her mind a notion of what her
lover should be like. He should be strong, handsome, direct,
successful, with clear eyes, a ruddy glow of health, and a certain
native understanding and sympathy--a love of life which matched
her own. Many young men had approached her. Perhaps the nearest
realization of her ideal was Father David, of St. Timothy's, and
he was, of course, a priest and sworn to celibacy. No word had
ever passed between them but he had been as conscious of her as
she of him. Then came Frank Cowperwood, and by degrees, because
of his presence and contact, he had been slowly built up in her
mind as the ideal person. She was drawn as planets are drawn to
their sun.
It is a question as to what would have happened if antagonistic
forces could have been introduced just at this time. Emotions and
liaisons of this character can, of course, occasionally be broken
up and destroyed. The characters of the individuals can be modified
or changed to a certain extent, but the force must be quite
sufficient. Fear is a great deterrent--fear of material loss where
there is no spiritual dread--but wealth and position so often tend
to destroy this dread. It is so easy to scheme with means. Aileen
had no spiritual dread whatever. Cowperwood was without spiritual
or religious feeling. He looked at this girl, and his one thought
was how could he so deceive the world that he could enjoy her love
and leave his present state undisturbed. Love her he did surely.
Business necessitated his calling at the Butlers' quite frequently,
and on each occasion he saw Aileen. She managed to slip forward
and squeeze his hand the first time he came--to steal a quick,
vivid kiss; and another time, as he was going out, she suddenly
appeared from behind the curtains hanging at the parlor door.
"Honey!"
The voice was soft and coaxing. He turned, giving her a warning
nod in the direction of her father's room upstairs.
She stood there, holding out one hand, and he stepped forward for
a second. Instantly her arms were about his neck, as he slipped
his about her waist.
"I long to see you so."
"I, too. I'll fix some way. I'm thinking."
He released her arms, and went out, and she ran to the window and
looked out after him. He was walking west on the street, for his
house was only a few blocks away, and she looked at the breadth
of his shoulders, the balance of his form. He stepped so briskly,
so incisively. Ah, this was a man! He was her Frank. She thought
of him in that light already. Then she sat down at the piano and
played pensively until dinner.
And it was so easy for the resourceful mind of Frank Cowperwood,
wealthy as he was, to suggest ways and means. In his younger
gallivantings about places of ill repute, and his subsequent
occasional variations from the straight and narrow path, he had
learned much of the curious resources of immorality. Being a city
of five hundred thousand and more at this time, Philadelphia had
its nondescript hotels, where one might go, cautiously and fairly
protected from observation; and there were houses of a conservative,
residential character, where appointments might be made, for a
consideration. And as for safeguards against the production of
new life--they were not mysteries to him any longer. He knew all
about them. Care was the point of caution. He had to be cautious,
for he was so rapidly coming to be an influential and a distinguished
man. Aileen, of course, was not conscious, except in a vague way,
of the drift of her passion; the ultimate destiny to which this
affection might lead was not clear to her. Her craving was for
love--to be fondled and caressed--and she really did not think so
much further. Further thoughts along this line were like rats that
showed their heads out of dark holes in shadowy corners and scuttled
back at the least sound. And, anyhow, all that was to be connected
with Cowperwood would be beautiful. She really did not think that
he loved her yet as he should; but he would. She did not know that
she wanted to interfere with the claims of his wife. She did not
think she did. But it would not hurt Mrs. Cowperwood if Frank
loved her--Aileen--also.
How shall we explain these subtleties of temperament and desire?
Life has to deal with them at every turn. They will not down, and
the large, placid movements of nature outside of man's little
organisms would indicate that she is not greatly concerned. We
see much punishment in the form of jails, diseases, failures, and
wrecks; but we also see that the old tendency is not visibly
lessened. Is there no law outside of the subtle will and power of
the individual to achieve? If not, it is surely high time that we
knew it--one and all. We might then agree to do as we do; but
there would be no silly illusion as to divine regulation. Vox
populi, vox Dei.
So there were other meetings, lovely hours which they soon began
to spend the moment her passion waxed warm enough to assure
compliance, without great fear and without thought of the deadly
risk involved. From odd moments in his own home, stolen when
there was no one about to see, they advanced to clandestine
meetings beyond the confines of the city. Cowperwood was not one
who was temperamentally inclined to lose his head and neglect his
business. As a matter of fact, the more he thought of this rather
unexpected affectional development, the more certain he was that
he must not let it interfere with his business time and judgment.
His office required his full attention from nine until three,
anyhow. He could give it until five-thirty with profit; but he
could take several afternoons off, from three-thirty until
five-thirty or six, and no one would be the wiser. It was
customary for Aileen to drive alone almost every afternoon a
spirited pair of bays, or to ride a mount, bought by her father
for her from a noted horse-dealer in Baltimore. Since Cowperwood
also drove and rode, it was not difficult to arrange meeting-places
far out on the Wissahickon or the Schuylkill road. There were
many spots in the newly laid-out park, which were as free from
interruption as the depths of a forest. It was always possible
that they might encounter some one; but it was also always
possible to make a rather plausible explanation, or none at all,
since even in case of such an encounter nothing, ordinarily, would
be suspected.
So, for the time being there was love-making, the usual billing
and cooing of lovers in a simple and much less than final fashion;
and the lovely horseback rides together under the green trees of
the approaching spring were idyllic. Cowperwood awakened to a
sense of joy in life such as he fancied, in the blush of this
new desire, he had never experienced before. Lillian had been
lovely in those early days in which he had first called on her
in North Front Street, and he had fancied himself unspeakably
happy at that time; but that was nearly ten years since, and he
had forgotten. Since then he had had no great passion, no notable
liaison; and then, all at once, in the midst of his new, great
business prosperity, Aileen. Her young body and soul, her
passionate illusions. He could see always, for all her daring,
that she knew so little of the calculating, brutal world with
which he was connected. Her father had given her all the toys
she wanted without stint; her mother and brothers had coddled her,
particularly her mother. Her young sister thought she was adorable.
No one imagined for one moment that Aileen would ever do anything
wrong. She was too sensible, after all, too eager to get up in
the world. Why should she, when her life lay open and happy before
her--a delightful love-match, some day soon, with some very eligible
and satisfactory lover?
"When you marry, Aileen," her mother used to say to her, "we'll
have a grand time here. Sure we'll do the house over then, if
we don't do it before. Eddie will have to fix it up, or I'll do
it meself. Never fear."
"Yes--well, I'd rather you'd fix it now," was her reply.
Butler himself used to strike her jovially on the shoulder in a
rough, loving way, and ask, "Well, have you found him yet?" or
"Is he hanging around the outside watchin' for ye?"
If she said, "No," he would reply: "Well, he will be, never
fear--worse luck. I'll hate to see ye go, girlie! You can stay
here as long as ye want to, and ye want to remember that you can
always come back."
Aileen paid very little attention to this bantering. She loved
her father, but it was all such a matter of course. It was the
commonplace of her existence, and not so very significant, though
delightful enough.
But how eagerly she yielded herself to Cowperwood under the spring
trees these days! She had no sense of that ultimate yielding that
was coming, for now he merely caressed and talked to her. He was
a little doubtful about himself. His growing liberties for
himself seemed natural enough, but in a sense of fairness to her
he began to talk to her about what their love might involve. Would
she? Did she understand? This phase of it puzzled and frightened
Aileen a little at first. She stood before him one afternoon in
her black riding-habit and high silk riding-hat perched jauntily
on her red-gold hair; and striking her riding-skirt with her short
whip, pondering doubtfully as she listened. He had asked her
whether she knew what she was doing? Whither they were drifting?
If she loved him truly enough? The two horses were tethered in a
thicket a score of yards away from the main road and from the bank
of a tumbling stream, which they had approached. She was trying
to discover if she could see them. It was pretense. There was no
interest in her glance. She was thinking of him and the smartness
of his habit, and the exquisiteness of this moment. He had such
a charming calico pony. The leaves were just enough developed to
make a diaphanous lacework of green. It was like looking through
a green-spangled arras to peer into the woods beyond or behind.
The gray stones were already faintly messy where the water rippled
and sparkled, and early birds were calling--robins and blackbirds
and wrens.
"Baby mine," he said, "do you understand all about this? Do you
know exactly what you're doing when you come with me this way?"
"I think I do."
She struck her boot and looked at the ground, and then up through
the trees at the blue sky.
"Look at me, honey."
"I don't want to."
"But look at me, sweet. I want to ask you something."
"Don't make me, Frank, please. I can't."
"Oh yes, you can look at me."
"No."
She backed away as he took her hands, but came forward again,
easily enough.
"Now look in my eyes."
"I can't."
"See here."
"I can't. Don't ask me. I'll answer you, but don't make me look
at you."
His hand stole to her cheek and fondled it. He petted her shoulder,
and she leaned her head against him.
"Sweet, you're so beautiful," he said finally, "I can't give you
up. I know what I ought to do. You know, too, I suppose; but I
can't. I must have you. If this should end in exposure, it would
be quite bad for you and me. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"I don't know your brothers very well; but from looking at them I
judge they're pretty determined people. They think a great deal
of you."
"Indeed, they do." Her vanity prinked slightly at this.
"They would probably want to kill me, and very promptly, for just
this much. What do you think they would want to do if--well, if
anything should happen, some time?"
He waited, watching her pretty face.
"But nothing need happen. We needn't go any further."
"Aileen!"
"I won't look at you. You needn't ask. I can't."
"Aileen! Do you mean that?"
"I don't know. Don't ask me, Frank."
"You know it can't stop this way, don't you? You know it. This
isn't the end. Now, if--" He explained the whole theory of
illicit meetings, calmly, dispassionately. "You are perfectly
safe, except for one thing, chance exposure. It might just so
happen; and then, of course, there would be a great deal to settle
for. Mrs. Cowperwood would never give me a divorce; she has no
reason to. If I should clean up in the way I hope to--if I should
make a million--I wouldn't mind knocking off now. I don't expect
to work all my days. I have always planned to knock off at
thirty-five. I'll have enough by that time. Then I want to travel.
It will only be a few more years now. If you were free--if your
father and mother were dead"--curiously she did not wince at this
practical reference--"it would be a different matter."
He paused. She still gazed thoughtfully at the water below, her
mind running out to a yacht on the sea with him, a palace somewhere--
just they two. Her eyes, half closed, saw this happy world; and,
listening to him, she was fascinated.
"Hanged if I see the way out of this, exactly. But I love you!"
He caught her to him. "I love you--love you!"
"Oh, yes," she replied intensely, "I want you to. I'm not afraid."
"I've taken a house in North Tenth Street," he said finally, as
they walked over to the horses and mounted them. "It isn't furnished
yet; but it will be soon. I know a woman who will take charge."
"Who is she?"
"An interesting widow of nearly fifty. Very intelligent--she is
attractive, and knows a good deal of life. I found her through
an advertisement. You might call on her some afternoon when
things are arranged, and look the place over. You needn't meet
her except in a casual way. Will you?"
She rode on, thinking, making no reply. He was so direct and
practical in his calculations.
"Will you? It will be all right. You might know her. She isn't
objectionable in any way. Will you?"
"Let me know when it is ready," was all she said finally. _
Read next: CHAPTER 21
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