t
and retrousse, and his ears were rather prominent; but he was bright and
attractive. He and Owen both realized that the house was old and poorly
arranged; but their father and mother liked it, and business sense and
family peace dictated silence on this score.

"Well, I think it's mean to have to live in this old place when
people not one-fourth as good as we are are living in better ones. The
Cowperwoods--why, even the Cowperwoods--"

"Yes, the Cowperwoods! What about the Cowperwoods?" demanded Butler,
turning squarely to Aileen--she was sitting beside him---his big, red
face glowing.

"Why, even they have a better house than we have, and he's merely an
agent of yours."

"The Cowperwoods! The Cowperwoods! I'll not have any talk about the
Cowperwoods. I'm not takin' my rules from the Cowperwoods. Suppose they
have a fine house, what of it? My house is my house. I want to live
here. I've lived here too long to be pickin' up and movin' away. If you
don't like it you know what else you can do. Move if you want to. I'll
not move."

It was Butler's habit when he became involved in these family
quarrels, which were as shallow as puddles, to wave his hands rather
antagonistically under his wife's or his children's noses.

"Oh, well, I will get out one of these days," Aileen replied. "Thank
heaven I won't have to live here forever."

There flashed across her mind the beautiful reception-room, library,
parlor, and boudoirs of the Cowperwoods, which were now being arranged
and about which Anna Cowperwood talked to her so much--their dainty,
lovely triangular grand piano in gold and painted pink and blue. Why
couldn't they have things like that? Her father was unquestionably a
dozen times as wealthy. But no, her father, whom she loved dearly, was
of the old school. He was just what people charged him with being, a
rough Irish contractor. He might be rich. She flared up at the injustice
of things--why couldn't he have been rich and refined, too? Then they
could have--but, oh, what was the use of complaining? They would never
get anywhere with her father and mother in charge. She would just have
to wait. Marriage was the answer--the right marriage. But whom was she
to marry?

"You surely are not going to go on fighting about that now," pleaded
Mrs. Butler, as strong and patient as fate itself. She knew where
Aileen's trouble lay.

"But we might have a decent house," insisted Aileen. "Or this one done
over," whispered