He came over, looking at her curiously.
“Do you want to earn some money?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied politely, adjusting a frowsy cap over one ear.
“Carry this bag for me,” said Aileen, and he picked it up and marched off.
In due time she arrived at the Calligans’, and amid much excitement was installed in the bosom of her new home. She took her situation with much nonchalance, once she was properly placed, distributing her toilet articles and those of personal wear with quiet care. The fact that she was no longer to have the services of Kathleen, the maid who had served her and her mother and Norah jointly, was odd, though not trying. She scarcely felt that she had parted from these luxuries permanently, and so made herself comfortable.
Mamie Calligan and her mother were adoring slaveys, so she was not entirely out of the atmosphere which she craved and to which she was accustomed.
XLVI
Meanwhile, in the Butler home the family was assembling for dinner. Mrs. Butler was sitting in rotund complacency at the foot of the table, her gray hair combed straight back from her round, shiny forehead. She had on a dark-gray silk dress, trimmed with gray-and-white striped ribbon. It suited her florid temperament admirably. Aileen had dictated her mother’s choice, and had seen that it had been properly made. Norah was refreshingly youthful in a pale-green dress, with red-velvet cuffs and collar. She looked young, slender, gay. Her eyes, complexion and hair were fresh and healthy. She was trifling with a string of coral beads which her mother had just given her.
“Oh, look, Callum,” she said to her brother opposite her, who was drumming idly on the table with his knife and fork. “Aren’t they lovely? Mama gave them to me.”
“Mama does more for you than I would. You know what you’d get from me, don’t you?”
“What?”
He looked at her teasingly. For answer Norah made a face at him. Just then Owen came in and took his place at the table. Mrs. Butler saw Norah’s grimace.
“Well, that’ll win no love from your brother, ye can depend on that,” she commented.
“Lord, what a day!” observed Owen, wearily, unfolding his napkin. “I’ve had my fill of work for once.”
“What’s the trouble?” queried his mother, feelingly.
“No real trouble, mother,” he replied. “Just everything—ducks and drakes, that’s all.”
“Well, ye must ate a good, hearty meal now, and that’ll refresh ye,” observed his mother, genially and feelingly. “Thompson”—she was referring to the family grocer—“brought us the last of his beans. You must have some of those.”
“Sure, beans’ll fix it, whatever it is, Owen,” joked Callum. “Mother’s got the answer.”
“They’re fine, I’d have ye know,” replied Mrs. Butler, quite unconscious of the joke.
“No doubt of it, mother,” replied Callum. “Real brain-food. Let’s feed some to Norah.”
“You’d better eat some yourself, smarty. My, but you’re gay! I suppose you’re going out to see somebody. That’s why.”
“Right you are, Norah. Smart girl, you. Five or six. Ten to fifteen minutes each. I’d call on you if you were nicer.”
“You would if you got the chance,” mocked Norah. “I’d have you know I wouldn’t let you. I’d feel very bad if I couldn’t get somebody better than you.”
“As good as, you mean,” corrected Callum.
“Children, children!” interpolated Mrs. Butler, calmly, looking about for old John, the servant. “You’ll be losin’ your tempers in a minute. Hush now. Here comes your father. Where’s Aileen?”
Butler walked heavily in and took his seat.
John, the servant, appeared bearing a platter of beans among other things, and Mrs. Butler asked him to send someone to call Aileen.
“It’s gettin’ colder, I’m thinkin’,” said Butler, by way of conversation, and eyeing Aileen’s empty chair. She would come soon now—his heavy problem. He had been very tactful these last two months—avoiding any reference to Cowperwood in so far as he could help in her presence.
“It’s colder,” remarked Owen, “much colder. We’ll soon see real winter now.”
Old John began to offer the various dishes in order; but when all had been served Aileen had not yet come.
“See where Aileen is, John,” observed Mrs. Butler, interestedly. “The meal will be gettin’ cold.”
Old John returned with the news that Aileen was not in her room.
“Sure she must be somewhere,” commented Mrs. Butler, only slightly perplexed. “She’ll be comin’, though, never mind, if she wants to. She knows it’s mealtime.”
The conversation drifted from a new waterworks that was being planned to the new city hall, then nearing completion; Cowperwood’s financial and social troubles, and the state of the stock market generally; a new goldmine in Arizona; the departure of Mrs. Mollenhauer the following Tuesday for Europe, with appropriate comments by Norah and Callum; and a Christmas ball that was going to be given for charity.
“Aileen’ll be wantin’ to go to that,” commented Mrs. Butler.
“I’m going, you bet,” put in Norah.
“Who’s going to take you?” asked Callum.
“That’s my affair, mister,” she replied, smartly.
The meal was over, and Mrs. Butler strolled up to Aileen’s room to see why she had not come down to dinner. Butler entered his den, wishing so much that he could take his wife into his confidence concerning all that was worrying him. On his desk, as he sat down and turned up the light, he saw the note. He recognized Aileen’s handwriting at once. What could she mean by writing him? A sense of the untoward came to him, and he tore it open slowly, and, putting on his glasses, contemplated it solemnly.
So Aileen was gone. The old man stared at each word as if it had been written in fire. She said she had not gone with Cowperwood. It was possible, just the same, that he had run away from Philadelphia and taken her with him. This was the last straw. This ended it. Aileen lured away
