The Titan 20 страница

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cannot lie to me any more. Heretofore, every time I have accused

her of things like this she has cried and lied. I do not know how

much you know of her, or how fond you are of her. I merely wish

her, not you, to know" --and he turned and stared at Stephanie--" that

the day of her lying to me is over.

During this very peculiar harangue Stephanie, who, nervous, fearful,

fixed, and yet beautiful, remained curled up in the corner of the

suggestive oriental divan, had been gazing at Cowperwood in a way

which plainly attested, trifle as she might with others, that she

was nevertheless fond of him--intensely so. His strong, solid

figure, confronting her so ruthlessly, gripped her imagination, of

which she had a world. She had managed to conceal her body in part,

but her brown arms and shoulders, her bosom, trim knees, and feet

were exposed in part. Her black hair and naive face were now heavy,

distressed, sad. She was frightened really, for Cowperwood at

bottom had always overawed her--a strange, terrible, fascinating

man. Now she sat and looked, seeking still to lure him by the

pathetic cast of her face and soul, while Cowperwood, scornful of

her, and almost openly contemptuous of her lover, and his possible

opposition, merely stood smiling before them. It came over her

very swiftly now just what it was she was losing--a grim, wonderful

man. Beside him Gurney, the pale poet, was rather thin--a mere

breath of romance. She wanted to say something, to make a plea;

but it was so plain Cowperwood would have none of it, and, besides,

here was Gurney. Her throat clogged, her eyes filled, even here,

and a mystical bog-fire state of emotion succeeded the primary one

of opposition. Cowperwood knew the look well. It gave him the

only sense of triumph he had.

" Stephanie, " he remarked, " I have just one word to say to you now.

We will not meet any more, of course. You are a good actress.

Stick to your profession. You may shine in it if you do not merge

it too completely with your loves. As for being a free lover, it

isn't incompatible with what you are, perhaps, but it isn't socially

advisable for you. Good night. "

He turned and walked quickly out.

" Oh, Frank, " called Stephanie, in a strange, magnetized, despairing

way, even in the face of her astonished lover. Gurney stared with

his mouth open.

Cowperwood paid no heed. Out he went through the dark hall and

down the stairs. For once the lure of a beautiful, enigmatic,

immoral, and promiscuous woman--poison flower though she was--was

haunting him. " D-- her! " he exclaimed. " D-- the little beast,

anyhow! The ----! The ----! " He used terms so hard, so vile, so sad,

all because he knew for once what it was to love and lose--to want

ardently in his way and not to have--now or ever after. He was

determined that his path and that of Stephanie Platow should never

be allowed to cross again.

Chapter XXIX

A Family Quarrel

It chanced that shortly before this liaison was broken off, some

troubling information was quite innocently conveyed to Aileen by

Stephanie Platow's own mother. One day Mrs. Platow, in calling

on Mrs. Cowperwood, commented on the fact that Stephanie was

gradually improving in her art, that the Garrick Players had

experienced a great deal of trouble, and that Stephanie was shortly

to appear in a new role--something Chinese.

" That was such a charming set of jade you gave her, " she volunteered,

genially. " I only saw it the other day for the first time. She

never told me about it before. She prizes it so very highly, that

I feel as though I ought to thank you myself. "

Aileen opened her eyes. " Jade! " she observed, curiously. " Why,

I don't remember. " Recalling Cowperwood's proclivities on the

instant, she was suspicious, distraught. Her face showed her

perplexity.

" Why, yes, " replied Mrs. Platow, Aileen's show of surprise troubling

her. " The ear-rings and necklet, you know. She said you gave

them to her. "

" To be sure, " answered Aileen, catching herself as by a hair. " I

do recall it now. But it was Frank who really gave them. I hope

she likes them. "

She smiled sweetly.

" She thinks they're beautiful, and they do become her, " continued

Mrs. Platow, pleasantly, understanding it all, as she fancied.

The truth was that Stephanie, having forgotten, had left her make-up

box open one day at home, and her mother, rummaging in her room

for something, had discovered them and genially confronted her

with them, for she knew the value of jade. Nonplussed for the

moment, Stephanie had lost her mental, though not her outward,

composure and referred them back casually to an evening at the

Cowperwood home when Aileen had been present and the gauds had

been genially forced upon her.

Unfortunately for Aileen, the matter was not to be allowed to rest

just so, for going one afternoon to a reception given by Rhees

Crier, a young sculptor of social proclivities, who had been

introduced to her by Taylor Lord, she was given a taste of what

it means to be a neglected wife from a public point of view. As

she entered on this occasion she happened to overhear two women

talking in a corner behind a screen erected to conceal wraps.

" Oh, here comes Mrs. Cowperwood, " said one. " She's the street-railway

magnate's wife. Last winter and spring he was running with that

Platow girl--of the Garrick Players, you know. "

The other nodded, studying Aileen's splendiferous green--velvet

gown with envy.

" I wonder if she's faithful to him? " she queried, while Aileen

strained to hear. " She looks daring enough. "

Aileen managed to catch a glimpse of her observers later, when

they were not looking, and her face showed her mingled resentment

and feeling; but it did no good. The wretched gossipers had wounded

her in the keenest way. She was hurt, angry, nonplussed. To think

that Cowperwood by his variability should expose her to such gossip

as this!

One day not so long after her conversation with Mrs. Platow, Aileen

happened to be standing outside the door of her own boudoir, the

landing of which commanded the lower hall, and there overheard two

of her servants discussing the Cowperwood menage in particular and

Chicago life in general. One was a tall, angular girl of perhaps

twenty-seven or eight, a chambermaid, the other a short, stout

woman of forty who held the position of assistant housekeeper.

They were pretending to dust, though gossip conducted in a whisper

was the matter for which they were foregathered. The tall girl

had recently been employed in the family of Aymar Cochrane, the

former president of the Chicago West Division Railway, and now a

director of the new West Chicago Street Railway Company.

" And I was that surprised, " Aileen heard this girl saying, " to

think I should be coming here. I cud scarcely believe me ears

when they told me. Why, Miss Florence was runnin' out to meet him

two and three times in the week. The wonder to me was that her

mother never guessed. "

Och, " replied the other, " he's the very divil and all when it comes

to the wimmin. " (Aileen did not see the upward lift of the hand

that accompanied this). " There was a little girl that used to

come here. Her father lives up the street here. Haguenin is his

name. He owns that morning paper, the Press, and has a fine house

up the street here a little way. Well, I haven't seen her very

often of late, but more than once I saw him kissing her in this

very room. Sure his wife knows all about it. Depend on it. She

had an awful fight with some woman here onct, so I hear, some woman

that he was runnin' with and bringin' here to the house. I hear

it's somethin' terrible the way she beat her up--screamin' and

carryin' on. Oh, they're the divil, these men, when it comes to

the wimmin. "

A slight rustling sound from somewhere sent the two gossipers on

their several ways, but Aileen had heard enough to understand.

What was she to do? How was she to learn more of these new women,

of whom she had never heard at all? She at once suspected Florence

Cochrane, for she knew that this servant had worked in the Cochrane

family. And then Cecily Haguenin, the daughter of the editor with

whom they were on the friendliest terms! Cowperwood kissing her!

Was there no end to his liaisons--his infidelity?

She returned, fretting and grieving, to her room, where she meditated

and meditated, wondering whether she should leave him, wondering

whether she should reproach him openly, wondering whether she

should employ more detectives. What good would it do? She had

employed detectives once. Had it prevented the Stephanie Platow

incident? Not at all. Would it prevent other liaisons in the

future? Very likely not. Obviously her home life with Cowperwood

was coming to a complete and disastrous end. Things could not go

on in this way. She had done wrong, possibly, in taking him away

from Mrs. Cowperwood number one, though she could scarcely believe

that, for Mrs. Lillian Cowperwood was so unsuited to him--but this

repayment! If she had been at all superstitious or religious, and

had known her Bible, which she didn't, she might have quoted to

herself that very fatalistic statement of the New Testament, " With

what measure ye mete it shall be measured unto you again. "

The truth was that Cowperwood's continued propensity to rove at

liberty among the fair sex could not in the long run fail of some

results of an unsatisfactory character. Coincident with the

disappearance of Stephanie Platow, he launched upon a variety of

episodes, the charming daughter of so worthy a man as Editor

Haguenin, his sincerest and most sympathetic journalistic supporter;

and the daughter of Aymar Cochrane, falling victims, among others,

to what many would have called his wiles. As a matter of fact,

in most cases he was as much sinned against as sinning, since the

provocation was as much offered as given.

The manner in which he came to get in with Cecily Haguenin was

simple enough. Being an old friend of the family, and a frequent

visitor at her father's house, he found this particular daughter

of desire an easy victim. She was a vigorous blonde creature of

twenty at this time, very full and plump, with large, violet eyes,

and with considerable alertness of mind--a sort of doll girl with

whom Cowperwood found it pleasant to amuse himself. A playful

gamboling relationship had existed between them when she was a

mere child attending school, and had continued through her college

years whenever she happened to be at home on a vacation. In these

very latest days when Cowperwood on occasion sat in the Haguenin

library consulting with the journalist-publisher concerning certain

moves which he wished to have put right before the public he saw

considerably more of Cecily. One night, when her father had gone

out to look up the previous action of the city council in connection

with some matter of franchises, a series of more or less sympathetic

and understanding glances suddenly culminated in Cecily's playfully

waving a new novel, which she happened to have in her hand, in

Cowperwood's face; and he, in reply, laid hold caressingly of her

arms.

" You can't stop me so easily, " she observed, banteringly.

" Oh yes, I can, " he replied.

A slight struggle ensued, in which he, with her semiwilful connivance,

managed to manoeuver her into his arms, her head backward against

his shoulder.

" Well, " she said, looking up at him with a semi-nervous,

semi-provocative glance, " now what? You'll just have to let me go. "

" Not very soon, though. "

" Oh yes, you will. My father will be here in a moment. "

" Well, not until then, anyhow. You're getting to be the sweetest

girl. "

She did not resist, but remained gazing half nervously, half

dreamily at him, whereupon he smoothed her cheek, and then kissed

her. Her father's returning step put an end to this; but from

this point on ascent or descent to a perfect understanding was

easily made.

In the matter of Florence Cochrane, the daughter of Aymar Cochrane,

the president of the Chicago West Division Company--a second affair

of the period--the approach was only slightly different, the result

the same. This girl, to furnish only a brief impression, was a

blonde of a different type from Cecily--delicate, picturesque,

dreamy. She was mildly intellectual at this time, engaged in

reading Marlowe and Jonson; and Cowperwood, busy in the matter of

the West Chicago Street Railway, and conferring with her father,

was conceived by her as a great personage of the Elizabethan order.

In a tentative way she was in revolt against an apple-pie order

of existence which was being forced upon her. Cowperwood recognized

the mood, trifled with her spiritedly, looked into her eyes, and

found the response he wanted. Neither old Aymar Cochrane nor his

impeccably respectable wife ever discovered.

Subsequently Aileen, reflecting upon these latest developments,

was from one point of view actually pleased or eased. There is

always safety in numbers, and she felt that if Cowperwood were

going to go on like this it would not be possible for him in the

long run to take a definite interest in any one; and so, all things

considered, and other things being equal, he would probably just

as leave remain married to her as not.

But what a comment, she could not help reflecting, on her own

charms! What an end to an ideal union that had seemed destined to

last all their days! She, Aileen Butler, who in her youth had

deemed herself the peer of any girl in charm, force, beauty, to

be shoved aside thus early in her life--she was only forty--by the

younger generation. And such silly snips as they were--Stephanie

Platow! and Cecily Haguenin! and Florence Cochrane, in all

likelihood another pasty-faced beginner! And here she was--vigorous,

resplendent, smooth of face and body, her forehead, chin, neck,

eyes without a wrinkle, her hair a rich golden reddish glow, her

step springing, her weight no more than one hundred and fifty

pounds for her very normal height, with all the advantages of a

complete toilet cabinet, jewels, clothing, taste, and skill in

material selection--being elbowed out by these upstarts. It was

almost unbelievable. It was so unfair. Life was so cruel,

Cowperwood so temperamentally unbalanced. Dear God! to think that

this should be true! Why should he not love her? She studied her

beauty in the mirror from time to time, and raged and raged. Why

was her body not sufficient for him? Why should he deem any one

more beautiful? Why should he not be true to his reiterated

protestations that he cared for her? Other men were true to other

women. Her father had been faithful to her mother. At the thought

of her own father and his opinion of her conduct she winced, but

it did not change her point of view as to her present rights. See

her hair! See her eyes! See her smooth, resplendent arms! Why

should Cowperwood not love her? Why, indeed?

One night, shortly afterward, she was sitting in her boudoir

reading, waiting for him to come home, when the telephone-bell

sounded and he informed her that he was compelled to remain at the

office late. Afterward he said he might be obliged to run on to

Pittsburg for thirty-six hours or thereabouts; but he would surely

be back on the third day, counting the present as one. Aileen was

chagrined. Her voice showed it. They had been scheduled to go

to dinner with the Hoecksemas, and afterward to the theater.

Cowperwood suggested that she should go alone, but Aileen declined

rather sharply; she hung up the receiver without even the pretense

of a good-by. And then at ten o'clock he telephoned again, saying

that he had changed his mind, and that if she were interested to

go anywhere--a later supper, or the like--she should dress, otherwise

he would come home expecting to remain.

Aileen immediately concluded that some scheme he had had to amuse

himself had fallen through. Having spoiled her evening, he was

coming home to make as much hay as possible out of this bit of

sunshine. This infuriated her. The whole business of uncertainty

in the matter of his affections was telling on her nerves. A storm

was in order, and it had come. He came bustling in a little later,

slipped his arms around her as she came forward and kissed her on

the mouth. He smoothed her arms in a make-believe and yet tender

way, and patted her shoulders. Seeing her frown, he inquired,

" What's troubling Babykins? "

" Oh, nothing more than usual, " replied Aileen, irritably. " Let's

not talk about that. Have you had your dinner? "

" Yes, we had it brought in. " He was referring to McKenty, Addison,

and himself, and the statement was true. Being in an honest

position for once, he felt called upon to justify himself a little.

" It couldn't be avoided to-night. I'm sorry that this business

takes up so much of my time, but I'll get out of it some day soon.

Things are bound to ease up. "

Aileen withdrew from his embrace and went to her dressing-table.

A glance showed her that her hair was slightly awry, and she

smoothed it into place. She looked at her chin, and then went

back to her book--rather sulkily, he thought.

" Now, Aileen, what's the trouble? " he inquired. " Aren't you glad

to have me up here? I know you have had a pretty rough road of it

of late, but aren't you willing to let bygones be bygones and trust

to the future a little? "

" The future! The future! Don't talk to me about the future. It's

little enough it holds in store for me, " she replied.

Cowperwood saw that she was verging on an emotional storm, but he

trusted to his powers of persuasion, and her basic affection for

him, to soothe and quell her.

" I wish you wouldn't act this way, pet, " he went on. " You know I

have always cared for you. You know I always shall. I'll admit

that there are a lot of little things which interfere with my being

at home as much as I would like at present; but that doesn't alter

the fact that my feeling is the same. I should think you could

see that. "

" Feeling! Feeling! " taunted Aileen, suddenly. " Yes, I know how

much feeling you have. You have feeling enough to give other women

sets of jade and jewels, and to run around with every silly little

snip you meet. You needn't come home here at ten o'clock, when

you can't go anywhere else, and talk about feeling for me. I know

how much feeling you have. Pshaw! "

She flung herself irritably back in her chair and opened her book.

Cowperwood gazed at her solemnly, for this thrust in regard to

Stephanie was a revelation. This woman business could grow

peculiarly exasperating at times.

" What do you mean, anyhow? " he observed, cautiously and with much

seeming candor. " I haven't given any jade or jewels to any one,

nor have I been running around with any 'little snips, ' as you

call them. I don't know what you are talking about, Aileen. "

" Oh, Frank, " commented Aileen, wearily and incredulously, " you lie

so! Why do you stand there and lie? I'm so tired of it; I'm so

sick of it all. How should the servants know of so many things

to talk of here if they weren't true? I didn't invite Mrs. Platow

to come and ask me why you had given her daughter a set of jade.

I know why you lie; you want to hush me up and keep quiet. You're

afraid I'll go to Mr. Haguenin or Mr. Cochrane or Mr. Platow, or

to all three. Well, you can rest your soul on that score. I

won't. I'm sick of you and your lies. Stephanie Platow--the thin

stick! Cecily Haguenin--the little piece of gum! And Florence

Cochrane--she looks like a dead fish! " (Aileen had a genius for

characterization at times. ) " If it just weren't for the way I

acted toward my family in Philadelphia, and the talk it would

create, and the injury it would do you financially, I'd act

to-morrow. I'd leave you--that's what I'd do. And to think that

I should ever have believed that you really loved me, or could

care for any woman permanently. Bosh! But I don't care. Go on!

Only I'll tell you one thing. You needn't think I'm going to go

on enduring all this as I have in the past. I'm not. You're not

going to deceive me always. I'm not going to stand it. I'm not

so old yet. There are plenty of men who will be glad to pay me

attention if you won't. I told you once that I wouldn't be faithful

to you if you weren't to me, and I won't be. I'll show you. I'll

go with other men. I will! I will! I swear it. "

" Aileen, " he asked, softly, pleadingly, realizing the futility of

additional lies under such circumstances, " won't you forgive me

this time? Bear with me for the present. I scarcely understand

myself at times. I am not like other men. You and I have run

together a long time now. Why not wait awhile? Give me a chance!

See if I do not change. I may. "

" Oh yes, wait! Change. You may change. Haven't I waited? Haven't

I walked the floor night after night! when you haven't been here?

Bear with you--yes, yes! Who's to bear with me when my heart is

breaking? Oh, God! " she suddenly added, with passionate vigor,

" I'm miserable! I'm miserable! My heart aches! It aches! "

She clutched her breast and swung from the room, moving with that

vigorous stride that had once appealed to him so, and still did.

Alas, alas! it touched him now, but only as a part of a very shifty

and cruel world. He hurried out of the room after her, and (as

at the time of the Rita Sohlberg incident) slipped his arm about

her waist; but she pulled away irritably. " No, no! " she exclaimed.

" Let me alone. I'm tired of that. "

" You're really not fair to me, Aileen, " with a great show of feeling

and sincerity. " You're letting one affair that came between us

blind your whole point of view. I give you my word I haven't been

unfaithful to you with Stephanie Platow or any other woman. I may

have flirted with them a little, but that is really nothing. Why

not be sensible? I'm not as black as you paint me. I'm moving in

big matters that are as much for your concern and future as for

mine. Be sensible, be liberal. "

There was much argument--the usual charges and countercharges--but,

finally, because of her weariness of heart, his petting, the

unsolvability of it all, she permitted him for the time being to

persuade her that there were still some crumbs of affection left.

She was soul-sick, heartsick. Even he, as he attempted to soothe

her, realized clearly that to establish the reality of his love

in her belief he would have to make some much greater effort to

entertain and comfort her, and that this, in his present mood, and

with his leaning toward promiscuity, was practically impossible.

For the time being a peace might be patched up, but in view of

what she expected of him--her passion and selfish individuality

--it could not be. He would have to go on, and she would have to

leave him, if needs be; but he could not cease or go back. He

was too passionate, too radiant, too individual and complex to

belong to any one single individual alone.

Chapter XXX

Obstacles

The impediments that can arise to baffle a great and swelling

career are strange and various. In some instances all the

cross-waves of life must be cut by the strong swimmer. With

other personalities there is a chance, or force, that happily

allies itself with them; or they quite unconsciously ally themselves

with it, and find that there is a tide that bears them on. Divine

will? Not necessarily. There is no understanding of it. Guardian

spirits? There are many who so believe, to their utter undoing.

(Witness Macbeth). An unconscious drift in the direction of right,

virtue, duty? These are banners of mortal manufacture. Nothing is

proved; all is permitted.

Not long after Cowperwood's accession to control on the West Side,

for instance, a contest took place between his corporation and a

citizen by the name of Redmond Purdy--real-estate investor,

property-trader, and money-lender--which set Chicago by the ears.

The La Salle and Washington Street tunnels were now in active

service, but because of the great north and south area of the West

Side, necessitating the cabling of Van Buren Street and Blue Island

Avenue, there was need of a third tunnel somewhere south of

Washington Street, preferably at Van Buren Street, because the

business heart was thus more directly reached. Cowperwood was

willing and anxious to build this tunnel, though he was puzzled

how to secure from the city a right of way under Van Buren Street,

where a bridge loaded with heavy traffic now swung. There were

all sorts of complications. In the first place, the consent of

the War Department at Washington had to be secured in order to

tunnel under the river at all. Secondly, the excavation, if

directly under the bridge, might prove an intolerable nuisance,

necessitating the closing or removal of the bridge. Owing to the

critical, not to say hostile, attitude of the newspapers which,

since the La Salle and Washington tunnel grants, were following

his every move with a searchlight, Cowperwood decided not to

petition the city for privileges in this case, but instead to buy

the property rights of sufficient land just north of the bridge,

where the digging of the tunnel could proceed without interference.

The piece of land most suitable for this purpose, a lot 150 x 150,

lying a little way from the river-bank, and occupied by a seven-story

loft-building, was owned by the previously mentioned Redmond Purdy,

a long, thin, angular, dirty person, who wore celluloid collars

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