Her dear, but ignorant, father! And this great man, her lover, had now condescended to love her--see in her his future wife. Oh, God, that it might not fail! Through the Cowperwoods at first she had hoped to meet a few people, young men and women--and particularly men--who were above the station in which she found herself, and to whom her beauty and prospective fortune would commend her; but this had not been the case. The Cowperwoods themselves, in spite of Frank Cowperwood's artistic proclivities and growing wealth, had not penetrated the inner circle as yet. In fact, aside from the subtle, preliminary consideration which they were receiving, they were a long way off.
None the less, and instinctively in Cowperwood Aileen recognized a way out--a door--and by the same token a subtle, impending artistic future of great magnificence. This man would rise beyond anything he now dreamed of--she felt it. There was in him, in some nebulous, unrecognizable form, a great artistic reality which was finer than anything she could plan for herself. She wanted luxury, magnificence, social station. Well, if she could get this man they would come to her. There were, apparently, insuperable barriers in the way; but hers was no weakling nature, and neither was his. They ran together temperamentally from the first like two leopards. Her own thoughts--crude, half formulated, half spoken--nevertheless matched his to a degree in the equality of their force and their raw directness.
"I don't think papa knows how to do," she said to him, one day.
"It isn't his fault. He can't help it. He knows that he can't.
And he knows that I know it. For years I wanted him to move out of that old house there. He knows that he ought to. But even that wouldn't do much good."
She paused, looking at him with a straight, clear, vigorous glance.
He liked the medallion sharpness of her features--their smooth, Greek modeling.
"Never mind, pet," he replied. "We will arrange all these things later. I don't see my way out of this just now; but I think the best thing to do is to confess to Lillian some day, and see if some other plan can't be arranged. I want to fix it so the children won't suffer. I can provide for them amply, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if Lillian would be willing to let me go. She certainly wouldn't want any publicity."
He was counting practically, and man-fashion, on her love for her children.
Aileen looked at him with clear, questioning, uncertain eyes. She was not wholly without sympathy, but in a way this situation did not appeal to her as needing much. Mrs. Cowperwood was not friendly in her mood toward her. It was not based on anything save a difference in their point of view. Mrs. Cowperwood could never understand how a girl could carry her head so high and "put on such airs," and Aileen could not understand how any one could be so lymphatic and lackadaisical as Lillian Cowperwood. Life was made for riding, driving, dancing, going. It was made for airs and banter and persiflage and coquetry. To see this woman, the wife of a young, forceful man like Cowperwood, acting, even though she were five years older and the mother of two children, as though life on its romantic and enthusiastic pleasurable side were all over was too much for her. Of course Lillian was unsuited to Frank; of course he needed a young woman like herself, and fate would surely give him to her. Then what a delicious life they would lead!
"Oh, Frank," she exclaimed to him, over and over, "if we could only manage it. Do you think we can?"
"Do I think we can? Certainly I do. It's only a matter of time.
I think if I were to put the matter to her clearly, she wouldn't expect me to stay. You look out how you conduct your affairs.
If your father or your brother should ever suspect me, there'd be an explosion in this town, if nothing worse. They'd fight me in all my money deals, if they didn't kill me. Are you thinking carefully of what you are doing?"
"All the time. If anything happens I'll deny everything. They can't prove it, if I deny it. I'll come to you in the long run, just the same."
They were in the Tenth Street house at the time. She stroked his cheeks with the loving fingers of the wildly enamored woman.
"I'll do anything for you, sweetheart," she declared. "I'd die for you if I had to. I love you so."
"Well, pet, no danger. You won't have to do anything like that.
But be careful."