p-stairs swiftly,
surely, entered after Rita, and closed the door. With a courage and
rage born of a purely animal despair, she turned and locked it; then
she wheeled swiftly, her eyes lit with a savage fire, her cheeks pale,
but later aflame, her hands, her fingers working in a strange,
unconscious way.

"So," she said, looking at Rita, and coming toward her quickly and
angrily, "you'll steal my husband, will you? You'll live in a secret
apartment, will you? You'll come here smiling and lying to me, will
you? You beast! You cat! You prostitute! I'll show you now! You
tow-headed beast! I know you now for what you are! I'll teach you once
for all! Take that, and that, and that!"

Suiting action to word, Aileen had descended upon her whirlwind, animal
fashion, striking, scratching, choking, tearing her visitor's hat from
her head, ripping the laces from her neck, beating her in the face, and
clutching violently at her hair and throat to choke and mar her beauty
if she could. For the moment she was really crazy with rage.

By the suddenness of this onslaught Rita Sohlberg was taken back
completely. It all came so swiftly, so terribly, she scarcely realized
what was happening before the storm was upon her. There was no time
for arguments, pleas, anything. Terrified, shamed, nonplussed, she
went down quite limply under this almost lightning attack. When Aileen
began to strike her she attempted in vain to defend herself, uttering
at the same time piercing screams which could be heard throughout the
house. She screamed shrilly, strangely, like a wild dying animal. On
the instant all her fine, civilized poise had deserted her. From the
sweetness and delicacy of the reception atmosphere--the polite cooings,
posturings, and mouthings so charming to contemplate, so alluring in
her--she had dropped on the instant to that native animal condition
that shows itself in fear. Her eyes had a look of hunted horror, her
lips and cheeks were pale and drawn. She retreated in a staggering,
ungraceful way; she writhed and squirmed, screaming in the strong
clutch of the irate and vigorous Aileen.

Cowperwood entered the hall below just before the screams began. He had
followed the Sohlbergs almost immediately from his office, and,
chancing to glance in the reception-room, he had observed Sohlberg
smiling, radiant, an intangible air of self-ingratiating, social, and
artistic sycophancy about him, his long black frock-coat buttoned