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Mr. Sluss went back to his chair, but he could not sit in it. He

went for his coat, took it down, hung it up again, took it down,

announced over the 'phone that he could not see any one for several

hours, and went out by a private door. Wearily he walked along

North Clark Street, looking at the hurly-burly of traffic, looking

at the dirty, crowded river, looking at the sky and smoke and gray

buildings, and wondering what he should do. The world was so hard

at times; it was so cruel. His wife, his family, his political

career. He could not conscientiously sign any ordinances for Mr.

Cowperwood--that would be immoral, dishonest, a scandal to the

city. Mr. Cowperwood was a notorious traitor to the public welfare.

At the same time he could not very well refuse, for here was Mrs.

Brandon, the charming and unscrupulous creature, playing into the

hands of Cowperwood. If he could only meet her, beg of her, plead;

but where was she? He had not seen her for months and months.

Could he go to Hand and confess all? But Hand was a hard, cold,

moral man also. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! He wondered and thought, and

sighed and pondered--all without avail.

Pity the poor earthling caught in the toils of the moral law. In

another country, perhaps, in another day, another age, such a

situation would have been capable of a solution, one not utterly

destructive to Mr. Sluss, and not entirely favorable to a man like

Cowperwood. But here in the United States, here in Chicago, the

ethical verities would all, as he knew, be lined up against him.

What Lake View would think, what his pastor would think, what Hand

and all his moral associates would think--ah, these were the

terrible, the incontrovertible consequences of his lapse from virtue.

At four o'clock, after Mr. Sluss had wandered for hours in the

snow and cold, belaboring himself for a fool and a knave, and while

Cowperwood was sitting at his desk signing papers, contemplating

a glowing fire, and wondering whether the mayor would deem it

advisable to put in an appearance, his office door opened and one

of his trim stenographers entered announcing Mr. Chaffee Thayer

Sluss. Enter Mayor Sluss, sad, heavy, subdued, shrunken, a very

different gentleman from the one who had talked so cavalierly over

the wires some five and a half hours before. Gray weather, severe

cold, and much contemplation of seemingly irreconcilable facts had

reduced his spirits greatly. He was a little pale and a little

restless. Mental distress has a reducing, congealing effect, and

Mayor Sluss seemed somewhat less than his usual self in height,

weight, and thickness. Cowperwood had seen him more than once on

various political platforms, but he had never met him. When the

troubled mayor entered he arose courteously and waved him to a

chair.

" Sit down, Mr. Sluss, " he said, genially. " It's a disagreeable

day out, isn't it? I suppose you have come in regard to the matter

we were discussing this morning? "

Nor was this cordiality wholly assumed. One of the primal instincts

of Cowperwood's nature--for all his chicane and subtlety--was to

take no rough advantage of a beaten enemy. In the hour of victory

he was always courteous, bland, gentle, and even sympathetic; he

was so to-day, and quite honestly, too.

Mayor Sluss put down the high sugar-loaf hat he wore and said,

grandiosely, as was his manner even in the direst extremity: " Well,

you see, I am here, Mr. Cowperwood. What is it you wish me to do,

exactly? "

" Nothing unreasonable, I assure you, Mr. Sluss, " replied Cowperwood.

" Your manner to me this morning was a little brusque, and, as I

have always wanted to have a sensible private talk with you, I

took this way of getting it. I should like you to dismiss from

your mind at once the thought that I am going to take an unfair

advantage of you in any way. I have no present intention of

publishing your correspondence with Mrs. Brandon. " (As he said

this he took from his drawer a bundle of letters which Mayor Sluss

recognized at once as the enthusiastic missives which he had

sometime before penned to the fair Claudia. Mr. Sluss groaned as

he beheld this incriminating evidence. ) " I am not trying, " continued

Cowperwood, " to wreck your career, nor to make you do anything which

you do not feel that you can conscientiously undertake. The letters

that I have here, let me say, have come to me quite by accident.

I did not seek them. But, since I do have them, I thought I might

as well mention them as a basis for a possible talk and compromise

between us. "

Cowperwood did not smile. He merely looked thoughtfully at Sluss;

then, by way of testifying to the truthfulness of what he had been

saying, thumped the letters up and down, just to show that they

were real.

" Yes, " said Mr. Sluss, heavily, " I see. "

He studied the bundle--a small, solid affair--while Cowperwood

looked discreetly elsewhere. He contemplated his own shoes, the

floor. He rubbed his hands and then his knees.

Cowperwood saw how completely he had collapsed. It was ridiculous,

pitiable.

" Come, Mr. Sluss, " said Cowperwood, amiably, " cheer up. Things

are not nearly as desperate as you think. I give you my word right

now that nothing which you yourself, on mature thought, could say

was unfair will be done. You are the mayor of Chicago. I am a

citizen. I merely wish fair play from you. I merely ask you to

give me your word of honor that from now on you will take no part

in this fight which is one of pure spite against me. If you cannot

conscientiously aid me in what I consider to be a perfectly

legitimate demand for additional franchises, you will, at least,

not go out of your way to publicly attack me. I will put these

letters in my safe, and there they will stay until the next campaign

is over, when I will take them out and destroy them. I have no

personal feeling against you--none in the world. I do not ask you

to sign any ordinance which the council may pass giving me

elevated-road rights. What I do wish you to do at this time is

to refrain from stirring up public sentiment against me, especially

if the council should see fit to pass an ordinance over your veto.

Is that satisfactory? "

" But my friends? The public? The Republican party? Don't you see

it is expected of me that I should wage some form of campaign

against you? " queried Sluss, nervously.

" No, I don't, " replied Cowperwood, succinctly, " and, anyhow, there

are ways and ways of waging a public campaign. Go through the

motions, if you wish, but don't put too much heart in it. And,

anyhow, see some one of my lawyers from time to time when they

call on you. Judge Dickensheets is an able and fair man. So is

General Van Sickle. Why not confer with them occasionally? --not

publicly, of course, but in some less conspicuous way. You will

find both of them most helpful. "

Cowperwood smiled encouragingly, quite beneficently, and Chaffee

Thayer Sluss, his political hopes gone glimmering, sat and mused

for a few moments in a sad and helpless quandary.

" Very well, " he said, at last, rubbing his hands feverishly. " It

is what I might have expected. I should have known. There is no

other way, but--" Hardly able to repress the hot tears now burning

beneath his eyelids, the Hon. Mr. Sluss picked up his hat and left

the room. Needless to add that his preachings against Cowperwood

were permanently silenced.

Chapter XLV

Changing Horizons

The effect of all this was to arouse in Cowperwood the keenest

feelings of superiority he had ever yet enjoyed. Hitherto he had

fancied that his enemies might worst him, but at last his path

seemed clear. He was now worth, all in all, the round sum of

twenty million dollars. His art-collection had become the most

important in the West--perhaps in the nation, public collections

excluded. He began to envision himself as a national figure,

possibly even an international one. And yet he was coming to feel

that, no matter how complete his financial victory might ultimately

be, the chances were that he and Aileen would never be socially

accepted here in Chicago. He had done too many boisterous things

--alienated too many people. He was as determined as ever to

retain a firm grip on the Chicago street-railway situation. But

he was disturbed for a second time in his life by the thought

that, owing to the complexities of his own temperament, he had

married unhappily and would find the situation difficult of

adjustment. Aileen, whatever might be said of her deficiencies,

was by no means as tractable or acquiescent as his first wife.

And, besides, he felt that he owed her a better turn. By no means

did he actually dislike her as yet; though she was no longer

soothing, stimulating, or suggestive to him as she had formerly

been. Her woes, because of him, were too many; her attitude toward

him too censorious. He was perfectly willing to sympathize with

her, to regret his own change of feeling, but what would you? He

could not control his own temperament any more than Aileen could

control hers.

The worst of this situation was that it was now becoming complicated

on Cowperwood's part with the most disturbing thoughts concerning

Berenice Fleming. Ever since the days when he had first met her

mother he had been coming more and more to feel for the young girl

a soul-stirring passion--and that without a single look exchanged

or a single word spoken. There is a static something which is

beauty, and this may be clothed in the habiliments of a ragged

philosopher or in the silks and satins of pampered coquetry. It

was a suggestion of this beauty which is above sex and above age

and above wealth that shone in the blowing hair and night-blue

eyes of Berenice Fleming. His visit to the Carter family at Pocono

had been a disappointment to him, because of the apparent hopelessness

of arousing Berenice's interest, and since that time, and during

their casual encounters, she had remained politely indifferent.

Nevertheless, he remained true to his persistence in the pursuit

of any game he had fixed upon.

Mrs. Carter, whose relations with Cowperwood had in the past been

not wholly platonic, nevertheless attributed much of his interest

in her to her children and their vital chance. Berenice and Rolfe

themselves knew nothing concerning the nature of their mother's

arrangements with Cowperwood. True to his promise of protectorship

and assistance, he had established her in a New York apartment

adjacent to her daughter's school, and where he fancied that he

himself might spend many happy hours were Berenice but near.

Proximity to Berenice! The desire to arouse her interest and command

her favor! Cowperwood would scarcely have cared to admit to himself

how great a part this played in a thought which had recently been

creeping into his mind. It was that of erecting a splendid house

in New York.

By degrees this idea of building a New York house had grown upon

him. His Chicago mansion was a costly sepulcher in which Aileen

sat brooding over the woes which had befallen her. Moreover, aside

from the social defeat which it represented, it was becoming merely

as a structure, but poorly typical of the splendor and ability of

his imaginations. This second dwelling, if he ever achieved it,

should be resplendent, a monument to himself. In his speculative

wanderings abroad he had seen many such great palaces, designed

with the utmost care, which had housed the taste and culture of

generations of men. His art-collection, in which he took an

immense pride, had been growing, until it was the basis if not the

completed substance for a very splendid memorial. Already in it

were gathered paintings of all the important schools; to say nothing

of collections of jade, illumined missals, porcelains, rugs,

draperies, mirror frames, and a beginning at rare originals of

sculpture. The beauty of these strange things, the patient laborings

of inspired souls of various times and places, moved him, on

occasion, to a gentle awe. Of all individuals he respected, indeed

revered, the sincere artist. Existence was a mystery, but these

souls who set themselves to quiet tasks of beauty had caught

something of which he was dimly conscious. Life had touched them

with a vision, their hearts and souls were attuned to sweet harmonies

of which the common world knew nothing. Sometimes, when he was

weary after a strenuous day, he would enter--late in the night

--his now silent gallery, and turning on the lights so that the

whole sweet room stood revealed, he would seat himself before some

treasure, reflecting on the nature, the mood, the time, and the

man that had produced it. Sometimes it would be one of Rembrandt's

melancholy heads--the sad " Portrait of a Rabbi" --or the sweet

introspection of a Rousseau stream. A solemn Dutch housewife,

rendered with the bold fidelity and resonant enameled surfaces of

a Hals or the cold elegance of an Ingres, commanded his utmost

enthusiasm. So he would sit and wonder at the vision and skill

of the original dreamer, exclaiming at times: " A marvel! A marvel! "

At the same time, so far as Aileen was concerned things were

obviously shaping up for additional changes. She was in that

peculiar state which has befallen many a woman--trying to substitute

a lesser ideal for a greater, and finding that the effort is useless

or nearly so. In regard to her affair with Lynde, aside from the

temporary relief and diversion it had afforded her, she was beginning

to feel that she had made a serious mistake. Lynde was delightful,

after his fashion. He could amuse her with a different type of

experience from any that Cowperwood had to relate. Once they were

intimate he had, with an easy, genial air, confessed to all sorts

of liaisons in Europe and America. He was utterly pagan--a faun

--and at the same time he was truly of the smart world. His open

contempt of all but one or two of the people in Chicago whom Aileen

had secretly admired and wished to associate with, and his easy

references to figures of importance in the East and in Paris and

London, raised him amazingly in her estimation; it made her feel,

sad to relate, that she had by no means lowered herself in succumbing

so readily to his forceful charms.

Nevertheless, because he was what he was--genial, complimentary,

affectionate, but a playboy, merely, and a soldier of fortune,

with no desire to make over her life for her on any new basis--she

was now grieving over the futility of this romance which had got

her nowhere, and which, in all probability, had alienated Cowperwood

for good. He was still outwardly genial and friendly, but their

relationship was now colored by a sense of mistake and uncertainty

which existed on both sides, but which, in Aileen's case, amounted

to a subtle species of soul-torture. Hitherto she had been the

aggrieved one, the one whose loyalty had never been in question,

and whose persistent affection and faith had been greatly sinned

against. Now all this was changed. The manner in which he had

sinned against her was plain enough, but the way in which, out of

pique, she had forsaken him was in the other balance. Say what

one will, the loyalty of woman, whether a condition in nature or

an evolved accident of sociology, persists as a dominating thought

in at least a section of the race; and women themselves, be it

said, are the ones who most loudly and openly subscribe to it.

Cowperwood himself was fully aware that Aileen had deserted him,

not because she loved him less or Lynde more, but because she was

hurt--and deeply so. Aileen knew that he knew this. From one

point of view it enraged her and made her defiant; from another

it grieved her to think she had uselessly sinned against his faith

in her. Now he had ample excuse to do anything he chose. Her

best claim on him--her wounds--she had thrown away as one throws

away a weapon. Her pride would not let her talk to him about this,

and at the same time she could not endure the easy, tolerant manner

with which he took it. His smiles, his forgiveness, his sometimes

pleasant jesting were all a horrible offense.

To complete her mental quandary, she was already beginning to

quarrel with Lynde over this matter of her unbreakable regard for

Cowperwood. With the sufficiency of a man of the world Lynde

intended that she should succumb to him completely and forget her

wonderful husband. When with him she was apparently charmed and

interested, yielding herself freely, but this was more out of pique

at Cowperwood's neglect than from any genuine passion for Lynde.

In spite of her pretensions of anger, her sneers, and criticisms

whenever Cowperwood's name came up, she was, nevertheless, hopelessly

fond of him and identified with him spiritually, and it was not

long before Lynde began to suspect this. Such a discovery is a

sad one for any master of women to make. It jolted his pride

severely.

" You care for him still, don't you? " he asked, with a wry smile,

upon one occasion. They were sitting at dinner in a private room

at Kinsley's, and Aileen, whose color was high, and who was

becomingly garbed in metallic-green silk, was looking especially

handsome. Lynde had been proposing that she should make special

arrangements to depart with him for a three-months' stay in Europe,

but she would have nothing to do with the project. She did not

dare. Such a move would make Cowperwood feel that she was alienating

herself forever; it would give him an excellent excuse to leave

her.

" Oh, it isn't that, " she had declared, in reply to Lynde's query.

" I just don't want to go. I can't. I'm not prepared. It's

nothing but a notion of yours, anyhow. You're tired of Chicago

because it's getting near spring. You go and I'll be here when

you come back, or I may decide to come over later. " She smiled.

Lynde pulled a dark face.

" Hell! " he said. " I know how it is with you. You still stick to

him, even when he treats you like a dog. You pretend not to love

him when as a matter of fact you're mad about him. I've seen it

all along. You don't really care anything about me. You can't.

You're too crazy about him. "

" Oh, shut up! " replied Aileen, irritated greatly for the moment

by this onslaught. " You talk like a fool. I'm not anything of

the sort. I admire him. How could any one help it? " (At this

time, of course, Cowperwood's name was filling the city. ) " He's a

very wonderful man. He was never brutal to me. He's a full-sized

man--I'll say that for him. "

By now Aileen had become sufficiently familiar with Lynde to

criticize him in her own mind, and even outwardly by innuendo, for

being a loafer and idler who had never created in any way the money

he was so freely spending. She had little power to psychologize

concerning social conditions, but the stalwart constructive

persistence of Cowperwood along commercial lines coupled with the

current American contempt of leisure reflected somewhat unfavorably

upon Lynde, she thought.

Lynde's face clouded still more at this outburst. " You go to the

devil, " he retorted. " I don't get you at all. Sometimes you talk

as though you were fond of me. At other times you're all wrapped

up in him. Now you either care for me or you don't. Which is it?

If you're so crazy about him that you can't leave home for a month

or so you certainly can't care much about me. "

Aileen, however, because of her long experience with Cowperwood,

was more than a match for Lynde. At the same time she was afraid

to let go of him for fear that she should have no one to care for

her. She liked him. He was a happy resource in her misery, at

least for the moment. Yet the knowledge that Cowperwood looked

upon this affair as a heavy blemish on her pristine solidarity

cooled her. At the thought of him and of her whole tarnished and

troubled career she was very unhappy.

" Hell! " Lynde had repeated, irritably, " stay if you want to. I'll

not be trying to over-persuade you--depend on that. "

They quarreled still further over this matter, and, though they

eventually made up, both sensed the drift toward an ultimately

unsatisfactory conclusion.

It was one morning not long after this that Cowperwood, feeling

in a genial mood over his affairs, came into Aileen's room, as he

still did on occasions, to finish dressing and pass the time of

day.

" Well, " he observed, gaily, as he stood before the mirror adjusting

his collar and tie, " how are you and Lynde getting along these

days--nicely? "

" Oh, you go to the devil! " replied Aileen, flaring up and struggling

with her divided feelings, which pained her constantly. " If it

hadn't been for you there wouldn't be any chance for your smarty

'how-am-I-getting-alongs. ' I am getting along all right--fine

--regardless of anything you may think. He's as good a man as

you are any day, and better. I like him. At least he's fond of

me, and that's more than you are. Why should you care what I do?

You don't, so why talk about it? I want you to let me alone. "

" Aileen, Aileen, how you carry on! Don't flare up so. I meant

nothing by it. I'm sorry as much for myself as for you. I've

told you I'm not jealous. You think I'm critical. I'm not anything

of the kind. I know how you feel. That's all very good. "

" Oh yes, yes, " she replied. " Well, you can keep your feelings to

yourself. Go to the devil! Go to the devil, I tell you! " Her eyes

blazed.

He stood now, fully dressed, in the center of the rug before her,

and Aileen looked at him, keen, valiant, handsome--her old Frank.

Once again she regretted her nominal faithlessness, and raged at

him in her heart for his indifference. " You dog, " she was about

to add, " you have no heart! " but she changed her mind. Her throat

tightened and her eyes filled. She wanted to run to him and say:

" Oh, Frank, don't you understand how it all is, how it all came

about? Won't you love me again--can't you? " But she restrained

herself. It seemed to her that he might understand--that he would,

in fact--but that he would never again be faithful, anyhow. And

she would so gladly have discarded Lynde and any and all men if

he would only have said the word, would only have really and

sincerely wished her to do so.

It was one day not long after their morning quarrel in her bedroom

that Cowperwood broached the matter of living in New York to Aileen,

pointing out that thereby his art-collection, which was growing

constantly, might be more suitably housed, and that it would give

her a second opportunity to enter social life.

" So that you can get rid of me out here, " commented Aileen, little

knowing of Berenice Fleming.

" Not at all, " replied Cowperwood, sweetly. " You see how things

are. There's no chance of our getting into Chicago society.

There's too much financial opposition against me here. If we had

a big house in New York, such as I would build, it would be an

introduction in itself. After all, these Chicagoans aren't even

a snapper on the real society whip. It's the Easterners who set

the pace, and the New-Yorkers most of all. If you want to say the

word, I can sell this place and we can live down there, part of

the time, anyhow. I could spend as much of my time with you there

as I have been doing here--perhaps more. "

Because of her soul of vanity Aileen's mind ran forward in spite

of herself to the wider opportunities which his words suggested.

This house had become a nightmare to her--a place of neglect and

bad memories. Here she had fought with Rita Sohlberg; here she

had seen society come for a very little while only to disappear;

here she had waited this long time for the renewal of Cowperwood's

love, which was now obviously never to be restored in its original

glamour. As he spoke she looked at him quizzically, almost sadly

in her great doubt. At the same time she could not help reflecting

that in New York where money counted for so much, and with

Cowperwood's great and growing wealth and prestige behind her, she

might hope to find herself socially at last. " Nothing venture,

nothing have" had always been her motto, nailed to her mast, though

her equipment for the life she now craved had never been more than

the veriest make-believe--painted wood and tinsel. Vain, radiant,

hopeful Aileen! Yet how was she to know?

" Very well, " she observed, finally. " Do as you like. I can live

down there as well as I can here, I presume--alone. "

Cowperwood knew the nature of her longings. He knew what was

running in her mind, and how futile were her dreams. Life had

taught him how fortuitous must be the circumstances which could

enable a woman of Aileen's handicaps and defects to enter that

cold upper world. Yet for all the courage of him, for the very

life of him, he could not tell her. He could not forget that once,

behind the grim bars in the penitentiary for the Eastern District

of Pennsylvania, he had cried on her shoulder. He could not be

an ingrate and wound her with his inmost thoughts any more than

he could deceive himself. A New York mansion and the dreams of

social supremacy which she might there entertain would soothe her

ruffled vanity and assuage her disappointed heart; and at the same

time he would be nearer Berenice Fleming. Say what one will of

these ferret windings of the human mind, they are, nevertheless,

true and characteristic of the average human being, and Cowperwood

was no exception. He saw it all, he calculated on it--he calculated

on the simple humanity of Aileen.

Chapter XLVI

Depths and Heights

The complications which had followed his various sentimental affairs

left Cowperwood in a quandary at times as to whether there could

be any peace or satisfaction outside of monogamy, after all.

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