y evidence. She was ready to
forgive him anything, she said, and she was, too, if only he would love
her.

"You devil," she used to say to him, playfully. "I know you. I can
see you looking around. That's a nice stenographer you have in the
office. I suppose it's her."

"Don't be silly, Aileen," he would reply. "Don't be coarse. You know
I wouldn't take up with a stenographer. An office isn't the place for
that sort of thing."

"Oh, isn't it? Don't silly me. I know you. Any old place is good
enough for you."

He laughed, and so did she. She could not help it. She loved him so.
There was no particular bitterness in her assaults. She loved him, and
very often he would take her in his arms, kiss her tenderly, and coo:
"Are you my fine big baby? Are you my red-headed doll? Do you really
love me so much? Kiss me, then." Frankly, pagan passion in these two
ran high. So long as they were not alienated by extraneous things he
could never hope for more delicious human contact. There was no
reaction either, to speak of, no gloomy disgust. She was physically
acceptable to him. He could always talk to her in a genial, teasing
way, even tender, for she did not offend his intellectuality with
prudish or conventional notions. Loving and foolish as she was in some
ways, she would stand blunt reproof or correction. She could suggest
in a nebulous, blundering way things that would be good for them to do.
Most of all at present their thoughts centered upon Chicago society,
the new house, which by now had been contracted for, and what it would
do to facilitate their introduction and standing. Never did a woman's
life look more rosy, Aileen thought. It was almost too good to be
true. Her Frank was so handsome, so loving, so generous. There was
not a small idea about him. What if he did stray from her at times? He
remained faithful to her spiritually, and she knew as yet of no single
instance in which he had failed her. She little knew, as much as she
knew, how blandly he could lie and protest in these matters. But he
was fond of her just the same, and he really had not strayed to any
extent.

By now also, Cowperwood had invested about one hundred thousand dollars
in his gas-company speculations, and he was jubilant over his
prospects; the franchises were good for twenty years. By that time he
would be nearly sixty, and he would probably have bought, combined
with, or sold out to the older companies at a great