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things being equal, that Mrs. Hand would do, and that he could be

interested if she were very much interested in him. Her telling

eyes and smiles, the heightened color of her cheeks indicated after

a time that she was.

Meeting him on the street one day not long after they had first

met, she told him that she was going for a visit to friends at

Oconomowoc, in Wisconsin.

" I don't suppose you ever get up that far north in summer, do you? "

she asked, with an air, and smiled.

" I never have, " he replied; " but there's no telling what I might

do if I were bantered. I suppose you ride and canoe? "

" Oh yes; and play tennis and golf, too. "

" But where would a mere idler like me stay? "

" Oh, there are several good hotels. There's never any trouble

about that. I suppose you ride yourself? "

" After a fashion, " replied Cowperwood, who was an expert.

Witness then the casual encounter on horseback, early one Sunday

morning in the painted hills of Wisconsin, of Frank Algernon

Cowperwood and Caroline Hand. A jaunty, racing canter, side by

side; idle talk concerning people, scenery, conveniences; his usual

direct suggestions and love-making, and then, subsequently

The day of reckoning, if such it might be called, came later.

Caroline Hand was, perhaps, unduly reckless. She admired Cowperwood

greatly without really loving him. He found her interesting,

principally because she was young, debonair, sufficient--a new

type. They met in Chicago after a time instead of in Wisconsin,

then in Detroit (where she had friends), then in Rockford, where

a sister had gone to live. It was easy for him with his time and

means. Finally, Duane Kingsland, wholesale flour merchant,

religious, moral, conventional, who knew Cowperwood and his repute,

encountered Mrs. Hand and Cowperwood first near Oconomowoc one

summer's day, and later in Randolph Street, near Cowperwood's

bachelor rooms. Being the man that he was and knowing old Hand

well, he thought it was his duty to ask the latter if his wife

knew Cowperwood intimately. There was an explosion in the Hand

home. Mrs. Hand, when confronted by her husband, denied, of course,

that there was anything wrong between her and Cowperwood. Her

elderly husband, from a certain telltale excitement and resentment

in her manner, did not believe this. He thought once of confronting

Cowperwood; but, being heavy and practical, he finally decided to

sever all business relationships with him and fight him in other

ways. Mrs. Hand was watched very closely, and a suborned maid

discovered an old note she had written to Cowperwood. An attempt

to persuade her to leave for Europe--as old Butler had once

attempted to send Aileen years before--raised a storm of protest,

but she went. Hand, from being neutral if not friendly, became

quite the most dangerous and forceful of all Cowperwood's Chicago

enemies. He was a powerful man. His wrath was boundless. He

looked upon Cowperwood now as a dark and dangerous man--one of

whom Chicago would be well rid.

Chapter XXXII

A Supper Party

Since the days in which Aileen had been left more or less lonely

by Cowperwood, however, no two individuals had been more faithful

in their attentions than Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben. Both were

fond of her in a general way, finding her interesting physically

and temperamentally; but, being beholden to the magnate for many

favors, they were exceedingly circumspect in their attitude toward

her, particularly during those early years in which they knew that

Cowperwood was intensely devoted to her. Later they were not so

careful.

It was during this latter period that Aileen came gradually, through

the agency of these two men, to share in a form of mid-world life

that was not utterly dull. In every large city there is a kind

of social half world, where artists and the more adventurous of

the socially unconventional and restless meet for an exchange of

things which cannot be counted mere social form and civility. It

is the age-old world of Bohemia. Hither resort those " accidentals"

of fancy that make the stage, the drawing-room, and all the schools

of artistic endeavor interesting or peculiar. In a number of

studios in Chicago such as those of Lane Cross and Rhees Crier,

such little circles were to be found. Rhees Crier, for instance,

a purely parlor artist, with all the airs, conventions, and social

adaptability of the tribe, had quite a following. Here and to

several other places by turns Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben conducted

Aileen, both asking and obtaining permission to be civil to her

when Cowperwood was away.

Among the friends of these two at this time was a certain Polk

Lynde, an interesting society figure, whose father owned an immense

reaper works, and whose time was spent in idling, racing, gambling,

socializing--anything, in short, that it came into his head to do.

He was tall, dark, athletic, straight, muscular, with a small dark

mustache, dark, black-brown eyes, kinky black hair, and a fine,

almost military carriage--which he clothed always to the best

advantage. A clever philanderer, it was quite his pride that he

did not boast of his conquests. One look at him, however, by the

initiated, and the story was told. Aileen first saw him on a visit

to the studio of Rhees Grier. Being introduced to him very casually

on this occasion, she was nevertheless clearly conscious that she

was encountering a fascinating man, and that he was fixing her

with a warm, avid eye. For the moment she recoiled from him as

being a little too brazen in his stare, and yet she admired the

general appearance of him. He was of that smart world that she

admired so much, and from which now apparently she was hopelessly

debarred. That trig, bold air of his realized for her at last the

type of man, outside of Cowperwood, whom she would prefer within

limits to admire her. If she were going to be " bad, " as she would

have phrased it to herself, she would be " bad" with a man such as

he. He would be winsome and coaxing, but at the same time strong,

direct, deliciously brutal, like her Frank. He had, too, what

Cowperwood could not have, a certain social air or swagger which

came with idleness, much loafing, a sense of social superiority

and security--a devil-may-care insouciance which recks little of

other people's will or whims.

When she next saw him, which was several weeks later at an affair

of the Courtney Tabors, friends of Lord's, he exclaimed:

" Oh yes. By George! You're the Mrs. Cowperwood I met several weeks

ago at Rhees Grier's studio. I've not forgotten you. I've seen

you in my eye all over Chicago. Taylor Lord introduced me to you.

Say, but you're a beautiful woman! "

He leaned ingratiatingly, whimsically, admiringly near.

Aileen realized that for so early in the afternoon, and considering

the crowd, he was curiously enthusiastic. The truth was that

because of some rounds he had made elsewhere he was verging toward

too much liquor. His eye was alight, his color coppery, his air

swagger, devil-may-care, bacchanal. This made her a little cautious;

but she rather liked his brown, hard face, handsome mouth, and crisp

Jovian curls. His compliment was not utterly improper; but she

nevertheless attempted coyly to avoid him.

" Come, Polk, here's an old friend of yours over here--Sadie Boutwell

--she wants to meet you again, " some one observed, catching him

by the arm.

" No, you don't, " he exclaimed, genially, and yet at the same time

a little resentfully--the kind of disjointed resentment a man who

has had the least bit too much is apt to feel on being interrupted.

" I'm not going to walk all over Chicago thinking of a woman I've

seen somewhere only to be carried away the first time I do meet

her. I'm going to talk to her first. "

Aileen laughed. " It's charming of you, but we can meet again,

perhaps. Besides, there's some one here" --Lord was tactfully

directing her attention to another woman. Rhees Grier and McKibben,

who were present also, came to her assistance. In the hubbub that

ensued Aileen was temporarily extricated and Lynde tactfully steered

out of her way. But they had met again, and it was not to be the

last time. Subsequent to this second meeting, Lynde thought the

matter over quite calmly, and decided that he must make a definite

effort to become more intimate with Aileen. Though she was not

as young as some others, she suited his present mood exactly. She

was rich physically--voluptuous and sentient. She was not of his

world precisely, but what of it? She was the wife of an eminent

financier, who had been in society once, and she herself had a

dramatic record. He was sure of that. He could win her if he

wanted to. It would be easy, knowing her as he did, and knowing

what he did about her.

So not long after, Lynde ventured to invite her, with Lord, McKibben,

Mr. and Mrs. Rhees Grier, and a young girl friend of Mrs. Grier

who was rather attractive, a Miss Chrystobel Lanman, to a theater

and supper party. The programme was to hear a reigning farce at

Hooley's, then to sup at the Richelieu, and finally to visit a

certain exclusive gambling-parlor which then flourished on the

South Side--the resort of actors, society gamblers, and the like

--where roulette, trente-et-quarante, baccarat, and the honest

game of poker, to say nothing of various other games of chance,

could be played amid exceedingly recherche surroundings.

The party was gay, especially after the adjournment to the Richelieu,

where special dishes of chicken, lobster, and a bucket of champagne

were served. Later at the Alcott Club, as the gambling resort was

known, Aileen, according to Lynde, was to be taught to play baccarat,

poker, and any other game that she wished. " You follow my advice,

Mrs. Cowperwood, " he observed, cheerfully, at dinner--being host,

he had put her between himself and McKibben--" and I'll show you

how to get your money back anyhow. That's more than some others

can do, " he added, spiritedly, recalling by a look a recent occasion

when he and McKibben, being out with friends, the latter had advised

liberally and had seen his advice go wrong.

" Have you been gambling, Kent? " asked Aileen, archly, turning to

her long-time social mentor and friend.

" No, I can honestly say I haven't, " replied McKibben, with a bland

smile. " I may have thought I was gambling, but I admit I don't

know how. Now Polk, here, wins all the time, don't you, Polk?

Just follow him. "

A wry smile spread over Lynde's face at this, for it was on record

in certain circles that he had lost as much as ten and even fifteen

thousand in an evening. He also had a record of winning twenty-five

thousand once at baccarat at an all-night and all-day sitting, and

then losing it.

Lynde all through the evening had been casting hard, meaning glances

into Aileen's eyes. She could not avoid this, and she did not

feel that she wanted to. He was so charming. He was talking to

her half the time at the theater, without apparently addressing

or even seeing her. Aileen knew well enough what was in his mind.

At times, quite as in those days when she had first met Cowperwood,

she felt an unwilled titillation in her blood. Her eyes brightened.

It was just possible that she could come to love a man like this,

although it would be hard. It would serve Cowperwood right for

neglecting her. Yet even now the shadow of Cowperwood was over

her, but also the desire for love and a full sex life.

In the gambling-rooms was gathered an interested and fairly smart

throng--actors, actresses, clubmen, one or two very emancipated

women of the high local social world, and a number of more or less

gentlemanly young gamblers. Both Lord and McKibben began suggesting

column numbers for first plays to their proteges, while Lynde

leaned caressingly over Aileen's powdered shoulders. " Let me put

this on quatre premier for you, " he suggested, throwing down a

twenty-dollar gold piece.

" Oh, but let it be my money, " complained Aileen. " I want to play

with my money. I won't feel that it's mine if I don't. "

" Very well, but you can't just now. You can't play with bills. "

She was extracting a crisp roll from her purse. " I'll have to

exchange them later for you for gold. You can pay me then. He's

going to call now, anyhow. There you are. He's done it. Wait a

moment. You may win. " And he paused to study the little ball as

it circled round and round above the receiving pockets.

" Let me see. How much do I get if I win quatre premier? " She was

trying to recall her experiences abroad.

" Ten for one, " replied Lynde; " but you didn't get it. Let's try

it once more for luck. It comes up every so often--once in ten

or twelve. I've made it often on a first play. How long has it

been since the last quatre premier? " he asked of a neighbor whom

he recognized.

" Seven, I think, Polk. Six or seven. How's tricks? "

" Oh, so so. " He turned again to Aileen. " It ought to come up now

soon. I always make it a rule to double my plays each time. It

gets you back all you've lost, some time or other. " He put down

two twenties.

" Goodness, " she exclaimed, " that will be two hundred! I had forgotten

that. "

Just then the call came for all placements to cease, and Aileen

directed her attention to the ball. It circled and circled in its

dizzy way and then suddenly dropped.

" Lost again, " commented Lynde. " Well, now we'll make it eighty, "

and he threw down four twenties. " Just for luck we'll put something

on thirty-six, and thirteen, and nine. With an easy air he laid

one hundred dollars in gold on each number.

Aileen liked his manner. This was like Frank. Lynde had the cool

spirit of a plunger. His father, recognizing his temperament, had

set over a large fixed sum to he paid to him annually. She

recognized, as in Cowperwood, the spirit of adventure, only working

out in another way. Lynde was perhaps destined to come to some

startlingly reckless end, but what of it? He was a gentleman. His

position in life was secure. That had always been Aileen's sad,

secret thought. Hers had not been and might never be now.

" Oh, I'm getting foozled already, " she exclaimed, gaily reverting

to a girlhood habit of clapping her hands. " How much will I win

if I win? " The gesture attracted attention even as the ball fell.

" By George, you have it! " exclaimed Lynde, who was watching the

croupier. " Eight hundred, two hundred, two hundred" --he was

counting to himself--" but we lose thirteen. Very good, that makes

us nearly one thousand ahead, counting out what we put down.

Rather nice for a beginning, don't you think? Now, if you'll take

my advice you'll not play quatre premier any more for a while.

Suppose you double a thirteen--you lost on that--and play Bates's

formula. I'll show you what that is. "

Already, because he was known to be a plunger, Lynde was gathering

a few spectators behind him, and Aileen, fascinated, and not knowing

these mysteries of chance, was content to watch him. At one stage

of the playing Lynde leaned over and, seeing her smile, whispered:

" What adorable hair and eyes you have! You glow like a great rose.

You have a radiance that is wonderful. "

" Oh, Mr. Lynde! How you talk! Does gambling always affect you this

way? "

" No, you do. Always, apparently! " And he stared hard into her

upturned eyes. Still playing ostensibly for Aileen's benefit, he

now doubled the cash deposit on his system, laying down a thousand

in gold. Aileen urged him to play for himself and let her watch.

" I'll just put a little money on these odd numbers here and there,

and you play any system you want. How will that do? "

" No, not at all, " he replied, feelingly. " You're my luck. I play

with you. You keep the gold for me. I'll make you a fine present

if I win. The losses are mine. "

" Just as you like. I don't know really enough about it to play.

But I surely get the nice present if you win? "

" You do, win or lose, " he murmured. " And now you put the money

on the numbers I call. Twenty on seven. Eighty on thirteen.

Eighty on thirty. Twenty on nine. Fifty on twenty-four. " He was

following a system of his own, and in obedience Aileen's white,

plump arm reached here and there while the spectators paused,

realizing that heavier playing was being done by this pair than

by any one else. Lynde was plunging for effect. He lost a thousand

and fifty dollars at one clip.

" Oh, all that good money! " exclaimed Aileen, mock-pathetically,

as the croupier raked it in.

" Never mind, we'll get it back, " exclaimed Lynde, throwing two

one-thousand-dollar bills to the cashier. " Give me gold for those. "

The man gave him a double handful, which he put down between

Aileen's white arms.

" One hundred on two. One hundred on four. One hundred on six.

One hundred on eight. "

The pieces were five-dollar gold pieces, and Aileen quickly built

up the little yellow stacks and shoved them in place. Again the

other players stopped and began to watch the odd pair. Aileen's

red-gold head, and pink cheeks, and swimming eyes, her body swathed

in silks and rich laces; and Lynde, erect, his shirt bosom snowy

white, his face dark, almost coppery, his eyes and hair black--they

were indeed a strikingly assorted pair.

" What's this? What's this? " asked Grier, coming up. " Who's plunging?

You, Mrs. Cowperwood? "

" Not plunging, " replied Lynde, indifferently. " We're merely working

out a formula--Mrs. Cowperwood and I. We're doing it together. "

Aileen smiled. She was in her element at last. She was beginning

to shine. She was attracting attention.

" One hundred on twelve. One hundred on eighteen. One hundred on

twenty-six. "

" Good heavens, what are you up to, Lynde? " exclaimed Lord, leaving

Mrs. Rhees and coming over. She followed. Strangers also were

gathering. The business of the place was at its topmost toss--it

being two o'clock in the morning--and the rooms were full.

" How interesting! " observed Miss Lanman, at the other end of the

table, pausing in her playing and staring. McKibben, who was

beside her, also paused. " They're plunging. Do look at all the

money! Goodness, isn't she daring-looking--and he? " Aileen's shining

arm was moving deftly, showily about.

" Look at the bills he's breaking! " Lynde was taking out a thick

layer of fresh, yellow bills which he was exchanging for gold.

" They make a striking pair, don't they? "

The board was now practically covered with Lynde's gold in quaint

little stacks. He had followed a system called Mazarin, which

should give him five for one, and possibly break the bank. Quite

a crowd swarmed about the table, their faces glowing in the

artificial light. The exclamation " plunging! " " plunging! " was to

be heard whispered here and there. Lynde was delightfully cool

and straight. His lithe body was quite erect, his eyes reflective,

his teeth set over an unlighted cigarette. Aileen was excited as

a child, delighted to be once more the center of comment. Lord

looked at her with sympathetic eyes. He liked her. Well, let her

he amused. It was good for her now and then; but Lynde was a fool

to make a show of himself and risk so much money.

" Table closed! " called the croupier, and instantly the little ball

began to spin. All eyes followed it. Round and round it went

--Aileen as keen an observer as any. Her face was flushed, her

eyes bright.

" If we lose this, " said Lynde, " we will make one more bet double,

and then if we don't win that we'll quit. " He was already out

nearly three thousand dollars.

" Oh yes, indeed! Only I think we ought to quit now. Here goes two

thousand if we don't win. Don't you think that's quite enough? I

haven't brought you much luck, have I? "

" You are luck, " he whispered. " All the luck I want. One more.

Stand by me for one more try, will you? If we win I'll quit. "

The little ball clicked even as she nodded, and the croupier,

paying out on a few small stacks here and there, raked all the

rest solemnly into the receiving orifice, while murmurs of

sympathetic dissatisfaction went up here and there.

" How much did they have on the board? " asked Miss Lanman of McKibben,

in surprise. " It must have been a great deal, wasn't it? "

" Oh, two thousand dollars, perhaps. That isn't so high here,

though. People do plunge for as much as eight or ten thousand.

It all depends. " McKibben was in a belittling, depreciating mood.

" Oh yes, but not often, surely. "

" For the love of heavens, Polk! " exclaimed Rhees Grier, coming up

and plucking at his sleeve; " if you want to give your money away

give it to me. I can gather it in just as well as that croupier,

and I'll go get a truck and haul it home, where it will do some

good. It's perfectly terrible the way you are carrying on. "

Lynde took his loss with equanimity. " Now to double it, " he

observed, " and get all our losses back, or go downstairs and have

a rarebit and some champagne. What form of a present would please

you best? --but never mind. I know a souvenir for this occasion.

He smiled and bought more gold. Aileen stacked it up showily, if

a little repentantly. She did not quite approve of this--his

plunging--and yet she did; she could not help sympathizing with

the plunging spirit. In a few moments it was on the board--the

same combination, the same stacks, only doubled--four thousand all

told. The croupier called, the ball rolled and fell. Barring

three hundred dollars returned, the bank took it all.

" Well, now for a rarebit, " exclaimed Lynde, easily, turning to

Lord, who stood behind him smiling. " You haven't a match, have

you? We've had a run of bad luck, that's sure. "

Lynde was secretly the least bit disgruntled, for if he had won

he had intended to take a portion of the winnings and put it in a

necklace or some other gewgaw for Aileen. Now he must pay for it.

Yet there was some satisfaction in having made an impression as

a calm and indifferent, though heavy loser. He gave Aileen his

arm.

" Well, my lady, " he observed, " we didn't win; but we had a little

fun out of it, I hope? That combination, if it had come out, would

have set us up handsomely. Better luck next time, eh? "

He smiled genially.

" Yes, but I was to have been your luck, and I wasn't, " replied

Aileen.

" You are all the luck I want, if you're willing to be. Come to the

Richelieu to-morrow with me for lunch--will you? "

" Let me see, " replied Aileen, who, observing his ready and somewhat

iron fervor, was doubtful. " I can't do that, " she said, finally,

" I have another engagement. "

" How about Tuesday, then? "

Aileen, realizing of a sudden that she was making much of a situation

that ought to be handled with a light hand, answered readily: " Very

well--Tuesday! Only call me up before. I may have to change my

mind or the time. " And she smiled good-naturedly.

After this Lynde had no opportunity to talk to Aileen privately;

but in saying good night he ventured to press her arm suggestively.

She suffered a peculiar nervous thrill from this, but decided

curiously that she had brought it upon herself by her eagerness

for life and revenge, and must make up her mind. Did she or did

she not wish to go on with this? This was the question uppermost,

and she felt that she must decide. However, as in most such cases,

circumstances were to help decide for her, and, unquestionably, a

portion of this truth was in her mind as she was shown gallantly

to her door by Taylor Lord.

Chapter XXXIII

Mr. Lynde to the Rescue

The interested appearance of a man like Polk Lynde at this stage

of Aileen's affairs was a bit of fortuitous or gratuitous humor

on the part of fate, which is involved with that subconscious

chemistry of things of which as yet we know nothing. Here was

Aileen brooding over her fate, meditating over her wrongs, as it

were; and here was Polk Lynde, an interesting, forceful Lothario

of the city, who was perhaps as well suited to her moods and her

tastes at this time as any male outside of Cowperwood could be.

In many respects Lynde was a charming man. He was comparatively

young--not more than Aileen's own age--schooled, if not educated,

at one of the best American colleges, of excellent taste in the

matter of clothes, friends, and the details of living with which

he chose to surround himself, but at heart a rake. He loved, and

had from his youth up, to gamble. He was in one phase of the word

a HARD and yet by no means a self-destructive drinker, for he had

an iron constitution and could consume spirituous waters with the

minimum of ill effect. He had what Gibbon was wont to call " the

most amiable of our vices, " a passion for women, and he cared no

more for the cool, patient, almost penitent methods by which his

father had built up the immense reaper business, of which he was

supposedly the heir, than he cared for the mysteries or sacred

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