________________________________________________
_ It chanced that shortly before this liaison was broken off, some
troubling information was quite innocently conveyed to Aileen by
Stephanie Platow's own mother. One day Mrs. Platow, in calling
on Mrs. Cowperwood, commented on the fact that Stephanie was
gradually improving in her art, that the Garrick Players had
experienced a great deal of trouble, and that Stephanie was shortly
to appear in a new role--something Chinese.
"That was such a charming set of jade you gave her," she volunteered,
genially. "I only saw it the other day for the first time. She
never told me about it before. She prizes it so very highly, that
I feel as though I ought to thank you myself."
Aileen opened her eyes. "Jade!" she observed, curiously. "Why,
I don't remember." Recalling Cowperwood's proclivities on the
instant, she was suspicious, distraught. Her face showed her
perplexity.
"Why, yes," replied Mrs. Platow, Aileen's show of surprise troubling
her. "The ear-rings and necklet, you know. She said you gave
them to her."
"To be sure," answered Aileen, catching herself as by a hair. "I
do recall it now. But it was Frank who really gave them. I hope
she likes them."
She smiled sweetly.
"She thinks they're beautiful, and they do become her," continued
Mrs. Platow, pleasantly, understanding it all, as she fancied.
The truth was that Stephanie, having forgotten, had left her make-up
box open one day at home, and her mother, rummaging in her room
for something, had discovered them and genially confronted her
with them, for she knew the value of jade. Nonplussed for the
moment, Stephanie had lost her mental, though not her outward,
composure and referred them back casually to an evening at the
Cowperwood home when Aileen had been present and the gauds had
been genially forced upon her.
Unfortunately for Aileen, the matter was not to be allowed to rest
just so, for going one afternoon to a reception given by Rhees
Crier, a young sculptor of social proclivities, who had been
introduced to her by Taylor Lord, she was given a taste of what
it means to be a neglected wife from a public point of view. As
she entered on this occasion she happened to overhear two women
talking in a corner behind a screen erected to conceal wraps.
"Oh, here comes Mrs. Cowperwood," said one. "She's the street-railway
magnate's wife. Last winter and spring he was running with that
Platow girl--of the Garrick Players, you know."
The other nodded, studying Aileen's splendiferous green--velvet
gown with envy.
"I wonder if she's faithful to him?" she queried, while Aileen
strained to hear. "She looks daring enough."
Aileen managed to catch a glimpse of her observers later, when
they were not looking, and her face showed her mingled resentment
and feeling; but it did no good. The wretched gossipers had wounded
her in the keenest way. She was hurt, angry, nonplussed. To think
that Cowperwood by his variability should expose her to such gossip
as this!
One day not so long after her conversation with Mrs. Platow, Aileen
happened to be standing outside the door of her own boudoir, the
landing of which commanded the lower hall, and there overheard two
of her servants discussing the Cowperwood menage in particular and
Chicago life in general. One was a tall, angular girl of perhaps
twenty-seven or eight, a chambermaid, the other a short, stout
woman of forty who held the position of assistant housekeeper.
They were pretending to dust, though gossip conducted in a whisper
was the matter for which they were foregathered. The tall girl
had recently been employed in the family of Aymar Cochrane, the
former president of the Chicago West Division Railway, and now a
director of the new West Chicago Street Railway Company.
"And I was that surprised," Aileen heard this girl saying, "to
think I should be coming here. I cud scarcely believe me ears
when they told me. Why, Miss Florence was runnin' out to meet him
two and three times in the week. The wonder to me was that her
mother never guessed."
Och," replied the other, "he's the very divil and all when it comes
to the wimmin." (Aileen did not see the upward lift of the hand
that accompanied this). "There was a little girl that used to
come here. Her father lives up the street here. Haguenin is his
name. He owns that morning paper, the Press, and has a fine house
up the street here a little way. Well, I haven't seen her very
often of late, but more than once I saw him kissing her in this
very room. Sure his wife knows all about it. Depend on it. She
had an awful fight with some woman here onct, so I hear, some woman
that he was runnin' with and bringin' here to the house. I hear
it's somethin' terrible the way she beat her up--screamin' and
carryin' on. Oh, they're the divil, these men, when it comes to
the wimmin."
A slight rustling sound from somewhere sent the two gossipers on
their several ways, but Aileen had heard enough to understand.
What was she to do? How was she to learn more of these new women,
of whom she had never heard at all? She at once suspected Florence
Cochrane, for she knew that this servant had worked in the Cochrane
family. And then Cecily Haguenin, the daughter of the editor with
whom they were on the friendliest terms! Cowperwood kissing her!
Was there no end to his liaisons--his infidelity?
She returned, fretting and grieving, to her room, where she meditated
and meditated, wondering whether she should leave him, wondering
whether she should reproach him openly, wondering whether she
should employ more detectives. What good would it do? She had
employed detectives once. Had it prevented the Stephanie Platow
incident? Not at all. Would it prevent other liaisons in the
future? Very likely not. Obviously her home life with Cowperwood
was coming to a complete and disastrous end. Things could not go
on in this way. She had done wrong, possibly, in taking him away
from Mrs. Cowperwood number one, though she could scarcely believe
that, for Mrs. Lillian Cowperwood was so unsuited to him--but this
repayment! If she had been at all superstitious or religious, and
had known her Bible, which she didn't, she might have quoted to
herself that very fatalistic statement of the New Testament, "With
what measure ye mete it shall be measured unto you again."
The truth was that Cowperwood's continued propensity to rove at
liberty among the fair sex could not in the long run fail of some
results of an unsatisfactory character. Coincident with the
disappearance of Stephanie Platow, he launched upon a variety of
episodes, the charming daughter of so worthy a man as Editor
Haguenin, his sincerest and most sympathetic journalistic supporter;
and the daughter of Aymar Cochrane, falling victims, among others,
to what many would have called his wiles. As a matter of fact,
in most cases he was as much sinned against as sinning, since the
provocation was as much offered as given.
The manner in which he came to get in with Cecily Haguenin was
simple enough. Being an old friend of the family, and a frequent
visitor at her father's house, he found this particular daughter
of desire an easy victim. She was a vigorous blonde creature of
twenty at this time, very full and plump, with large, violet eyes,
and with considerable alertness of mind--a sort of doll girl with
whom Cowperwood found it pleasant to amuse himself. A playful
gamboling relationship had existed between them when she was a
mere child attending school, and had continued through her college
years whenever she happened to be at home on a vacation. In these
very latest days when Cowperwood on occasion sat in the Haguenin
library consulting with the journalist-publisher concerning certain
moves which he wished to have put right before the public he saw
considerably more of Cecily. One night, when her father had gone
out to look up the previous action of the city council in connection
with some matter of franchises, a series of more or less sympathetic
and understanding glances suddenly culminated in Cecily's playfully
waving a new novel, which she happened to have in her hand, in
Cowperwood's face; and he, in reply, laid hold caressingly of her
arms.
"You can't stop me so easily," she observed, banteringly.
"Oh yes, I can," he replied.
A slight struggle ensued, in which he, with her semiwilful connivance,
managed to manoeuver her into his arms, her head backward against
his shoulder.
"Well," she said, looking up at him with a semi-nervous,
semi-provocative glance, "now what? You'll just have to let me go."
"Not very soon, though."
"Oh yes, you will. My father will be here in a moment."
"Well, not until then, anyhow. You're getting to be the sweetest
girl."
She did not resist, but remained gazing half nervously, half
dreamily at him, whereupon he smoothed her cheek, and then kissed
her. Her father's returning step put an end to this; but from
this point on ascent or descent to a perfect understanding was
easily made.
In the matter of Florence Cochrane, the daughter of Aymar Cochrane,
the president of the Chicago West Division Company--a second affair
of the period--the approach was only slightly different, the result
the same. This girl, to furnish only a brief impression, was a
blonde of a different type from Cecily--delicate, picturesque,
dreamy. She was mildly intellectual at this time, engaged in
reading Marlowe and Jonson; and Cowperwood, busy in the matter of
the West Chicago Street Railway, and conferring with her father,
was conceived by her as a great personage of the Elizabethan order.
In a tentative way she was in revolt against an apple-pie order
of existence which was being forced upon her. Cowperwood recognized
the mood, trifled with her spiritedly, looked into her eyes, and
found the response he wanted. Neither old Aymar Cochrane nor his
impeccably respectable wife ever discovered.
Subsequently Aileen, reflecting upon these latest developments,
was from one point of view actually pleased or eased. There is
always safety in numbers, and she felt that if Cowperwood were
going to go on like this it would not be possible for him in the
long run to take a definite interest in any one; and so, all things
considered, and other things being equal, he would probably just
as leave remain married to her as not.
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."
"Feeling! Feeling!" taunted Aileen, suddenly. "Yes, I know how
much feeling you have. You have feeling enough to give other women
sets of jade and jewels, and to run around with every silly little
snip you meet. You needn't come home here at ten o'clock, when
you can't go anywhere else, and talk about feeling for me. I know
how much feeling you have. Pshaw!"
She flung herself irritably back in her chair and opened her book.
Cowperwood gazed at her solemnly, for this thrust in regard to
Stephanie was a revelation. This woman business could grow
peculiarly exasperating at times.
"What do you mean, anyhow?" he observed, cautiously and with much
seeming candor. "I haven't given any jade or jewels to any one,
nor have I been running around with any 'little snips,' as you
call them. I don't know what you are talking about, Aileen."
"Oh, Frank," commented Aileen, wearily and incredulously, "you lie
so! Why do you stand there and lie? I'm so tired of it; I'm so
sick of it all. How should the servants know of so many things
to talk of here if they weren't true? I didn't invite Mrs. Platow
to come and ask me why you had given her daughter a set of jade.
I know why you lie; you want to hush me up and keep quiet. You're
afraid I'll go to Mr. Haguenin or Mr. Cochrane or Mr. Platow, or
to all three. Well, you can rest your soul on that score. I
won't. I'm sick of you and your lies. Stephanie Platow--the thin
stick! Cecily Haguenin--the little piece of gum! And Florence
Cochrane--she looks like a dead fish!" (Aileen had a genius for
characterization at times.) "If it just weren't for the way I
acted toward my family in Philadelphia, and the talk it would
create, and the injury it would do you financially, I'd act
to-morrow. I'd leave you--that's what I'd do. And to think that
I should ever have believed that you really loved me, or could
care for any woman permanently. Bosh! But I don't care. Go on!
Only I'll tell you one thing. You needn't think I'm going to go
on enduring all this as I have in the past. I'm not. You're not
going to deceive me always. I'm not going to stand it. I'm not
so old yet. There are plenty of men who will be glad to pay me
attention if you won't. I told you once that I wouldn't be faithful
to you if you weren't to me, and I won't be. I'll show you. I'll
go with other men. I will! I will! I swear it."
"Aileen," he asked, softly, pleadingly, realizing the futility of
additional lies under such circumstances, "won't you forgive me
this time? Bear with me for the present. I scarcely understand
myself at times. I am not like other men. You and I have run
together a long time now. Why not wait awhile? Give me a chance!
See if I do not change. I may."
"Oh yes, wait! Change. You may change. Haven't I waited? Haven't
I walked the floor night after night! when you haven't been here?
Bear with you--yes, yes! Who's to bear with me when my heart is
breaking? Oh, God!" she suddenly added, with passionate vigor,
"I'm miserable! I'm miserable! My heart aches! It aches!"
She clutched her breast and swung from the room, moving with that
vigorous stride that had once appealed to him so, and still did.
Alas, alas! it touched him now, but only as a part of a very shifty
and cruel world. He hurried out of the room after her, and (as
at the time of the Rita Sohlberg incident) slipped his arm about
her waist; but she pulled away irritably. "No, no!" she exclaimed.
"Let me alone. I'm tired of that."
"You're really not fair to me, Aileen," with a great show of feeling
and sincerity. "You're letting one affair that came between us
blind your whole point of view. I give you my word I haven't been
unfaithful to you with Stephanie Platow or any other woman. I may
have flirted with them a little, but that is really nothing. Why
not be sensible? I'm not as black as you paint me. I'm moving in
big matters that are as much for your concern and future as for
mine. Be sensible, be liberal."
There was much argument--the usual charges and countercharges--but,
finally, because of her weariness of heart, his petting, the
unsolvability of it all, she permitted him for the time being to
persuade her that there were still some crumbs of affection left.
She was soul-sick, heartsick. Even he, as he attempted to soothe
her, realized clearly that to establish the reality of his love
in her belief he would have to make some much greater effort to
entertain and comfort her, and that this, in his present mood, and
with his leaning toward promiscuity, was practically impossible.
For the time being a peace might be patched up, but in view of
what she expected of him--her passion and selfish individuality
--it could not be. He would have to go on, and she would have to
leave him, if needs be; but he could not cease or go back. He
was too passionate, too radiant, too individual and complex to
belong to any one single individual alone. _
Read next: chapter XXX - Obstacles
Read previous: chapter XXVIII - The Exposure of Stephanie
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