Butler, senior, for instance, had seen his little daughter grow into radiantly beautiful womanhood. He had seen her go to school and convent and learn to play the piano--to him a great accomplishment. Also he had seen her manner change and become very showy and her knowledge of life broaden, apparently, and become to him, at least, impressive. Her smart, dogmatic views about most things were, to him, at least, well worth listening to.
She knew more about books and art than Owen or Callum, and her sense of social manners was perfect. When she came to the table--breakfast, luncheon, or dinner--she was to him always a charming object to see. He had produced Aileen--he congratulated himself.
He had furnished her the money to be so fine. He would continue to do so. No second-rate upstart of a man should be allowed to ruin her life. He proposed to take care of her always--to leave her so much money in a legally involved way that a failure of a husband could not possibly affect her. "You're the charming lady this evenin', I'm thinkin'," was one of his pet remarks; and also, "My, but we're that fine!" At table almost invariably she sat beside him and looked out for him. That was what he wanted. He had put her there beside him at his meals years before when she was a child.
Her mother, too, was inordinately fond of her, and Callum and Owen appropriately brotherly. So Aileen had thus far at least paid back with beauty and interest quite as much as she received, and all the family felt it to be so. When she was away for a day or two the house seemed glum--the meals less appetizing. When she returned, all were happy and gay again.
Aileen understood this clearly enough in a way. Now, when it came to thinking of leaving and shifting for herself, in order to avoid a trip which she did not care to be forced into, her courage was based largely on this keen sense of her own significance to the family. She thought over what her father had said, and decided she must act at once. She dressed for the street the next morning, after her father had gone, and decided to step in at the Calligans' about noon, when Mamie would be at home for luncheon. Then she would take up the matter casually. If they had no objection, she would go there. She sometimes wondered why Cowperwood did not suggest, in his great stress, that they leave for some parts unknown; but she also felt that he must know best what he could do. His increasing troubles depressed her.
Mrs. Calligan was alone when she arrived and was delighted to see her. After exchanging the gossip of the day, and not knowing quite how to proceed in connection with the errand which had brought her, she went to the piano and played a melancholy air.
"Sure, it's lovely the way you play, Aileen," observed Mrs. Calligan who was unduly sentimental herself. "I love to hear you. I wish you'd come oftener to see us. You're so rarely here nowadays."
"Oh, I've been so busy, Mrs. Calligan," replied Aileen. "I've had so much to do this fall, I just couldn't. They wanted me to go to Europe; but I didn't care to. Oh, dear!" she sighed, and in her playing swept off with a movement of sad, romantic significance.
The door opened and Mamie came in. Her commonplace face brightened at the sight of Aileen.
"Well, Aileen Butler!" she exclaimed. "Where did you come from?
Where have you been keeping yourself so long?"
Aileen rose to exchange kisses. "Oh, I've been very busy, Mamie.
I've just been telling your mother. How are you, anyway? How are you getting along in your work?"
Mamie recounted at once some school difficulties which were puzzling her--the growing size of classes and the amount of work expected.
While Mrs. Calligan was setting the table Mamie went to her room and Aileen followed her.
As she stood before her mirror arranging her hair Aileen looked at her meditatively.
"What's the matter with you, Aileen, to-day?" Mamie asked. "You look so--" She stopped to give her a second glance.
"How do I look?" asked Aileen.
"Well, as if you were uncertain or troubled about something. I never saw you look that way before. What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing," replied Aileen. "I was just thinking." She went to one of the windows which looked into the little yard, meditating on whether she could endure living here for any length of time.
The house was so small, the furnishings so very simple.
"There is something the matter with you to-day, Aileen," observed Mamie, coming over to her and looking in her face. "You're not like yourself at all."
"I've got something on my mind," replied Aileen--"something that's worrying me. I don't know just what to do--that's what's the matter."
"Well, whatever can it be?" commented Mamie. "I never saw you act this way before. Can't you tell me? What is it?"
"No, I don't think I can--not now, anyhow." Aileen paused. "Do you suppose your mother would object," she asked, suddenly, "if I came here and stayed a little while? I want to get away from home for a time for a certain reason."
"Why, Aileen Butler, how you talk!" exclaimed her friend. "Object!
You know she'd be delighted, and so would I. Oh, dear--can you come? But what makes you want to leave home?"
"That's just what I can't tell you--not now, anyhow. Not you, so much, but your mother. You know, I'm afraid of what she'd think," replied Aileen. "But, you mustn't ask me yet, anyhow. I want to think. Oh, dear! But I want to come, if you'll let me. Will you speak to your mother, or shall I?"
"Why, I will," said Mamie, struck with wonder at this remarkable development; "but it's silly to do it. I know what she'll say before I tell her, and so do you. You can just bring your things and come. That's all. She'd never say anything or ask anything, either, and you know that--if you didn't want her to." Mamie was all agog and aglow at the idea. She wanted the companionship of Aileen so much.