n his afternoon frock, his quick,
receptive eyes approving only partially of all this show and effort,
took his place in the general reception-room, talking to Taylor Lord,
who had completed his last observation and was leaving to return later
in the evening. If these two had been closer friends, quite intimate,
they would have discussed the Cowperwoods' social prospects; but as it
was, they confined themselves to dull conventionalities. At this
moment Aileen came down-stairs for a moment, radiant. Kent McKibben
thought he had never seen her look more beautiful. After all,
contrasted with some of the stuffy creatures who moved about in
society, shrewd, hard, bony, calculating, trading on their assured
position, she was admirable. It was a pity she did not have more
poise; she ought to be a little harder--not quite so genial. Still,
with Cowperwood at her side, she might go far.

"Really, Mrs. Cowperwood," he said, "it is all most charming. I was
just telling Mr. Lord here that I consider the house a triumph."

From McKibben, who was in society, and with Lord, another "in" standing
by, this was like wine to Aileen. She beamed joyously.

Among the first arrivals were Mrs. Webster Israels, Mrs. Bradford
Canda, and Mrs. Walter Rysam Cotton, who were to assist in receiving.
These ladies did not know that they were taking their future
reputations for sagacity and discrimination in their hands; they had
been carried away by the show of luxury of Aileen, the growing
financial repute of Cowperwood, and the artistic qualities of the new
house. Mrs. Webster Israels's mouth was of such a peculiar shape that
Aileen was always reminded of a fish; but she was not utterly homely,
and to-day she looked brisk and attractive. Mrs. Bradford Canda, whose
old rose and silver-gray dress made up in part for an amazing
angularity, but who was charming withal, was the soul of interest, for
she believed this to be a very significant affair. Mrs. Walter Rysam
Cotton, a younger woman than either of the others, had the polish of
Vassar life about her, and was "above" many things. Somehow she half
suspected the Cowperwoods might not do, but they were making strides,
and might possibly surpass all other aspirants. It behooved her to be
pleasant.

Life passes from individuality and separateness at times to a sort of
Monticelliesque mood of color, where individuality is nothing, the
glittering totality all. The new house, with its char