r countenance to keep it appropriately cheerful, and if she went
away there would be a distinct gulf that would not soon be overcome.

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 stres