Aileen accepted the caress.
“Oh, it isn’t that,” she replied, feelingly, running back in her mind over her long career with Cowperwood, his former love, his keen protestations. She had expected to make so much out of her life with him, and here she was sitting in a public restaurant flirting with and extracting sympathy from a comparative stranger. It cut her to the quick for the moment and sealed her lips. Hot, unbidden tears welled to her eyes.
Lynde saw them. He was really very sorry for her, though her beauty made him wish to take advantage of her distress. “Why should you cry, dearest?” he asked, softly, looking at her flushed cheeks and colorful eyes. “You have beauty; you are young; you’re lovely. He’s not the only man in the world. Why should you be faithful when he isn’t faithful to you? This Hand affair is all over town. When you meet someone that really would care for you, why shouldn’t you? If he doesn’t want you, there are others.”
At the mention of the Hand affair Aileen straightened up. “The Hand affair?” she asked, curiously. “What is that?”
“Don’t you know?” he replied, a little surprised. “I thought you did, or I certainly wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Oh, I know about what it is,” replied Aileen, wisely, and with a touch of sardonic humor. “There have been so many or the same kind. I suppose it must be the case the Chicago Review was referring to—the wife of the prominent financier. Has he been trifling with Mrs. Hand?”
“Something like that,” replied Lynde. “I’m sorry that I spoke, though? really I am. I didn’t mean to be carrying tales.”
“Soldiers in a common fight, eh?” taunted Aileen, gaily.
“Oh, not that, exactly. Please don’t be mean. I’m not so bad. It’s just a principle with me. We all have our little foibles.”
“Yes, I know,” replied Aileen; but her mind was running on Mrs. Hand. So she was the latest. “Well, I admire his taste, anyway, in this case,” she said, archly. “There have been so many, though. She is just one more.”
Lynde smiled. He himself admired Cowperwood’s taste. Then he dropped the subject.
“But let’s forget that,” he said. “Please don’t worry about him any more. You can’t change that. Pull yourself together.” He squeezed her fingers. “Will you?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows in inquiry.
“Will I what?” replied Aileen, meditatively.
“Oh, you know. The necklace for one thing. Me, too.” His eyes coaxed and laughed and pleaded.
Aileen smiled. “You’re a bad boy,” she said, evasively. This revelation in regard to Mrs. Hand had made her singularly retaliatory in spirit. “Let me think. Don’t ask me to take the necklace today. I couldn’t. I couldn’t wear it, anyhow. Let me see you another time.” She moved her plump hand in an uncertain way, and he smoothed her wrist.
“I wonder if you wouldn’t like to go around to the studio of a friend of mine here in the tower?” he asked, quite nonchalantly. “He has such a charming collection of landscapes. You’re interested in pictures, I know. Your husband has some of the finest.”
Instantly Aileen understood what was meant—quite by instinct. The alleged studio must be private bachelor quarters.
“Not this afternoon,” she replied, quite wrought up and disturbed. “Not today. Another time. And I must be going now. But I will see you.”
“And this?” he asked, picking up the necklace.
“You keep it until I do come,” she replied. “I may take it then.”
She relaxed a little, pleased that she was getting safely away; but her mood was anything but antagonistic, and her spirits were as shredded as wind-whipped clouds. It was time she wanted—a little time—that was all.
XXXIV
Enter Hosmer Hand
It is needless to say that the solemn rage of Hand, to say nothing of the pathetic anger of Haguenin, coupled with the wrath of Redmond Purdy, who related to all his sad story, and of young MacDonald and his associates of the Chicago General Company, constituted an atmosphere highly charged with possibilities and potent for dramatic results. The most serious element in this at present was Hosmer Hand, who, being exceedingly wealthy and a director in a number of the principal mercantile and financial institutions of the city, was in a position to do Cowperwood some real financial harm. Hand had been extremely fond of his young wife. Being a man of but few experiences with women, it astonished and enraged him that a man like Cowperwood should dare to venture on his preserves in this reckless way, should take his dignity so lightly. He burned now with a hot, slow fire of revenge.
Those who know anything concerning the financial world and its great adventures know how precious is that reputation for probity, solidarity, and conservatism on which so many of the successful enterprises of the world are based. If men are not absolutely honest themselves they at least wish for and have faith in the honesty of others. No set of men know more about each other, garner more carefully all the straws of rumor which may affect the financial and social well being of an individual one way or another, keep a tighter mouth concerning their own affairs and a sharper eye on that of their neighbors. Cowperwood’s credit had hitherto been good because it was known that he had a “soft thing” in the Chicago street-railway field, that he paid his interest charges promptly, that he had organized the group of men who now, under him, controlled the Chicago Trust Company and the North and West Chicago Street Railways, and that the Lake City Bank, of which Addison was still president, considered his collateral sound. Nevertheless, even previous to this time there had been a protesting element in the shape of Schryhart, Simms, and others of considerable import
