“I’ll make ye no promise,” he said. “Tell me where my daughter is, and I’ll think the matter over. Ye have no claim on me now, and I owe ye no good turn. But I’ll think it over, anyhow.”
“That’s quite all right,” replied Cowperwood. “That’s all I can expect. But what about Aileen? Do you expect her to leave Philadelphia?”
“Not if she settles down and behaves herself: but there must be an end of this between you and her. She’s disgracin’ her family and ruinin’ her soul in the bargain. And that’s what you are doin’ with yours. It’ll be time enough to talk about anything else when you’re a free man. More than that I’ll not promise.”
Cowperwood, satisfied that this move on Aileen’s part had done her a real service if it had not aided him especially, was convinced that it would be a good move for her to return to her home at once. He could not tell how his appeal to the State Supreme Court would eventuate. His motion for a new trial which was now to be made under the privilege of the certificate of reasonable doubt might not be granted, in which case he would have to serve a term in the penitentiary. If he were compelled to go to the penitentiary she would be safer—better off in the bosom of her family. His own hands were going to be exceedingly full for the next two months until he knew how his appeal was coming out. And after that—well, after that he would fight on, whatever happened.
During all the time that Cowperwood had been arguing his case in this fashion he had been thinking how he could adjust this compromise so as to retain the affection of Aileen and not offend her sensibilities by urging her to return. He knew that she would not agree to give up seeing him, and he was not willing that she should. Unless he had a good and sufficient reason, he would be playing a wretched part by telling Butler where she was. He did not intend to do so until he saw exactly how to do it—the way that would make it most acceptable to Aileen. He knew that she would not long be happy where she was. Her flight was due in part to Butler’s intense opposition to himself and in part to his determination to make her leave Philadelphia and behave; but this last was now in part obviated. Butler, in spite of his words, was no longer a stern Nemesis. He was a melting man—very anxious to find his daughter, very willing to forgive her. He was whipped, literally beaten, at his own game, and Cowperwood could see it in the old man’s eyes. If he himself could talk to Aileen personally and explain just how things were, he felt sure he could make her see that it would be to their mutual advantage, for the present at least, to have the matter amicably settled. The thing to do was to make Butler wait somewhere—here, possibly—while he went and talked to her. When she learned how things were she would probably acquiesce.
“The best thing that I can do under the circumstances,” he said, after a time, “would be to see Aileen in two or three days, and ask her what she wishes to do. I can explain the matter to her, and if she wants to go back, she can. I will promise to tell her anything that you say.”
“Two or three days!” exclaimed Butler, irritably. “Two or three fiddlesticks! She must come home tonight. Her mother doesn’t know she’s left the place yet. Tonight is the time! I’ll go and fetch her meself tonight.”
“No, that won’t do,” said Cowperwood. “I shall have to go myself. If you wish to wait here I will see what can be done, and let you know.”
“Very well,” grunted Butler, who was now walking up and down with his hands behind his back. “But for Heaven’s sake be quick about it. There’s no time to lose.” He was thinking of Mrs. Butler. Cowperwood called the servant, ordered his runabout, and told George to see that his private office was not disturbed. Then, as Butler strolled to and fro in this, to him, objectionable room, Cowperwood drove rapidly away.
XLVII
Although it was nearly eleven o’clock when he arrived at the Calligans’, Aileen was not yet in bed. In her bedroom upstairs she was confiding to Mamie and Mrs. Calligan some of her social experiences when the bell rang, and Mrs. Calligan went down and opened the door to Cowperwood.
“Miss Butler is here, I believe,” he said. “Will you tell her that there is someone here from her father?” Although Aileen had instructed that her presence here was not to be divulged even to the members of her family the force of Cowperwood’s presence and the mention of Butler’s name cost Mrs. Calligan her presence of mind. “Wait a moment,” she said; “I’ll see.”
She stepped back, and Cowperwood promptly stepped in, taking off his hat with the air of one who was satisfied that Aileen was there. “Say to her that I only want to speak to her for a few moments,” he called, as Mrs. Calligan went upstairs, raising his voice in the hope that Aileen might hear. She did, and came down promptly. She was very much astonished to think that he should come so soon, and fancied, in her vanity, that there must be great excitement in her home. She would have greatly grieved if there had not been.
The Calligans would have been pleased to hear, but Cowperwood was cautious. As she came down the stairs he put his finger to his lips in sign for silence, and said, “This is Miss Butler, I believe.”
“Yes,” replied Aileen, with a secret smile.
