Part 47 (1/2)

Old John began to offer the various dishes in order; but when all had been served Aileen had not yet come.

”See where Aileen is, John,” observed Mrs. Butler, interestedly. ”The meal will be gettin' cold.”

Old John returned with the news that Aileen was not in her room.

”Sure she must be somewhere,” commented Mrs. Butler, only slightly perplexed. ”She'll be comin', though, never mind, if she wants to. She knows it's meal-time.”

The conversation drifted from a new water-works that was being planned to the new city hall, then nearing completion; Cowperwood's financial and social troubles, and the state of the stock market generally; a new gold-mine in Arizona; the departure of Mrs. Mollenhauer the following Tuesday for Europe, with appropriate comments by Norah and Callum; and a Christmas ball that was going to be given for charity.

”Aileen'll be wantin' to go to that,” commented Mrs. Butler.

”I'm going, you bet,” put in Norah.

”Who's going to take you?” asked Callum.

”That's my affair, mister,” she replied, smartly.

The meal was over, and Mrs. Butler strolled up to Aileen's room to see why she had not come down to dinner. Butler entered his den, wis.h.i.+ng so much that he could take his wife into his confidence concerning all that was worrying him. On his desk, as he sat down and turned up the light, he saw the note. He recognized Aileen's handwriting at once. What could she mean by writing him? A sense of the untoward came to him, and he tore it open slowly, and, putting on his gla.s.ses, contemplated it solemnly.

So Aileen was gone. The old man stared at each word as if it had been written in fire. She said she had not gone with Cowperwood. It was possible, just the same, that he had run away from Philadelphia and taken her with him. This was the last straw. This ended it. Aileen lured away from home--to where--to what? Butler could scarcely believe, though, that Cowperwood had tempted her to do this. He had too much at stake; it would involve his own and Butler's families. The papers would be certain to get it quickly. He got up, crumpling the paper in his hand, and turned about at a noise. His wife was coming in. He pulled himself together and shoved the letter in his pocket.

”Aileen's not in her room,” she said, curiously. ”She didn't say anything to you about going out, did she?”

”No,” he replied, truthfully, wondering how soon he should have to tell his wife.

”That's odd,” observed Mrs. Butler, doubtfully. ”She must have gone out after somethin'. It's a wonder she wouldn't tell somebody.”

Butler gave no sign. He dared not. ”She'll be back,” he said, more in order to gain time than anything else. He was sorry to have to pretend.

Mrs. Butler went out, and he closed the door. Then he took out the letter and read it again. The girl was crazy. She was doing an absolutely wild, inhuman, senseless thing. Where could she go, except to Cowperwood? She was on the verge of a public scandal, and this would produce it. There was just one thing to do as far as he could see.

Cowperwood, if he were still in Philadelphia, would know. He would go to him--threaten, cajole, actually destroy him, if necessary. Aileen must come back. She need not go to Europe, perhaps, but she must come back and behave herself at least until Cowperwood could legitimately marry her. That was all he could expect now. She would have to wait, and some day perhaps he could bring himself to accept her wretched proposition.

Horrible thought! It would kill her mother, disgrace her sister. He got up, took down his hat, put on his overcoat, and started out.

Arriving at the Cowperwood home he was shown into the reception-room.

Cowperwood at the time was in his den looking over some private papers.

When the name of Butler was announced he immediately went down-stairs.

It was characteristic of the man that the announcement of Butler's presence created no stir in him whatsoever. So Butler had come. That meant, of course, that Aileen had gone. Now for a battle, not of words, but of weights of personalities. He felt himself to be intellectually, socially, and in every other way the more powerful man of the two. That spiritual content of him which we call life hardened to the texture of steel. He recalled that although he had told his wife and his father that the politicians, of whom Butler was one, were trying to make a scapegoat of him, Butler, nevertheless, was not considered to be wholly alienated as a friend, and civility must prevail. He would like very much to placate him if he could, to talk out the hard facts of life in a quiet and friendly way. But this matter of Aileen had to be adjusted now once and for all. And with that thought in his mind he walked quickly into Butler's presence.

The old man, when he learned that Cowperwood was in and would see him, determined to make his contact with the financier as short and effective as possible. He moved the least bit when he heard Cowperwood's step, as light and springy as ever.

”Good evening, Mr. Butler,” said Cowperwood, cheerfully, when he saw him, extending his hand. ”What can I do for you?”

”Ye can take that away from in front of me, for one thing,” said Butler, grimly referring to his hand. ”I have no need of it. It's my daughter I've come to talk to ye about, and I want plain answers. Where is she?”

”You mean Aileen?” said Cowperwood, looking at him with steady, curious, unrevealing eyes, and merely interpolating this to obtain a moment for reflection. ”What can I tell you about her?”

”Ye can tell me where she is, that I know. And ye can make her come back to her home, where she belongs. It was bad fortune that ever brought ye across my doorstep; but I'll not bandy words with ye here. Ye'll tell me where my daughter is, and ye'll leave her alone from now, or I'll--” The old man's fists closed like a vise, and his chest heaved with suppressed rage. ”Ye'll not be drivin' me too far, man, if ye're wise,” he added, after a time, recovering his equanimity in part. ”I want no truck with ye. I want my daughter.”

”Listen, Mr. Butler,” said Cowperwood, quite calmly, relis.h.i.+ng the situation for the sheer sense of superiority it gave him. ”I want to be perfectly frank with you, if you will let me. I may know where your daughter is, and I may not. I may wish to tell you, and I may not. She may not wish me to. But unless you wish to talk with me in a civil way there is no need of our going on any further. You are privileged to do what you like. Won't you come up-stairs to my room? We can talk more comfortably there.”

Butler looked at his former protege in utter astonishment. He had never before in all his experience come up against a more ruthless type--suave, bland, forceful, unterrified. This man had certainly come to him as a sheep, and had turned out to be a ravening wolf. His incarceration had not put him in the least awe.