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and free consideration of this matter aside from state legislative

influence and control. To persuade the state legislature, by

influence or by any other means, to step in at this time and

interfere is unfair. The propositions involved in those bills

should be referred to the people at the next election for approval

or not, just as they see fit. That is the way this matter should

be arranged. It will not do to come into the legislature and

influence or buy votes, and then expect me to write my signature

under the whole matter as satisfactory.

Swanson was not heated or antipathetic. He was cool, firm,

well-intentioned.

Dickensheets passed his hand over a wide, high temple. He seemed

to be meditating something--some hitherto untried statement or

course of action.

Well, Governor, " he repeated, " I want to thank you, anyhow. You

have been exceedingly kind. By the way, I see you have a large,

roomy safe here. " He had picked up the bag he was carrying. " I

wonder if I might leave this here for a day or two in your care?

It contains some papers that I do not wish to carry into the country

with me. Would you mind locking it up in your safe and letting

me have it when I send for it? "

" With pleasure, " replied the governor.

He took it, placed it in lower storage space, and closed and locked

the door. The two men parted with a genial hand-shake. The

governor returned to his meditations, the judge hurried to catch

a car.

About eleven o'clock the next morning Swanson was still working

in his office, worrying greatly over some method whereby he could

raise one hundred thousand dollars to defray interest charges,

repairs, and other payments, on a structure that was by no means

meeting expenses and was hence a drain. At this juncture his

office door opened, and his very youthful office-boy presented him

the card of F. A. Cowperwood. The governor had never seen him

before. Cowperwood entered brisk, fresh, forceful. He was as

crisp as a new dollar bill--as clean, sharp, firmly limned.

" Governor Swanson, I believe? "

" Yes, sir. "

The two were scrutinizing each other defensively.

" I am Mr. Cowperwood. I come to have a very few words with you.

I will take very little of your time. I do not wish to go over

any of the arguments that have been gone over before. I am

satisfied that you know all about them. "

" Yes, I had a talk with Judge Dickensheets yesterday. "

" Just so, Governor. Knowing all that you do, permit me to put one

more matter before you. I know that you are, comparatively, a

poor man--that every dollar you have is at present practically

tied in this building. I know of two places where you have applied

for a loan of one hundred thousand dollars and have been refused

because you haven't sufficient security to offer outside of this

building, which is mortgaged up to its limit as it stands. The

men, as you must know, who are fighting you are fighting me. I

am a scoundrel because I am selfish and ambitious--a materialist.

You are not a scoundrel, but a dangerous person because you are

an idealist. Whether you veto this bill or not, you will never

again be elected Governor of Illinois if the people who are fighting

me succeed, as they will succeed, in fighting you. "

Swanson's dark eyes burned illuminatively. He nodded his head in

assent.

" Governor, I have come here this morning to bribe you, if I can.

I do not agree with your ideals; in the last analysis I do not

believe that they will work. I am sure I do not believe in most

of the things that you believe in. Life is different at bottom

perhaps from what either you or I may think. Just the same, as

compared with other men, I sympathize with you. I will loan you

that one hundred thousand dollars and two or three or four hundred

thousand dollars more besides if you wish. You need never pay me

a dollar--or you can if you wish. Suit yourself. In that black

bag which Judge Dickensheets brought here yesterday, and which is

in your safe, is three hundred thousand dollars in cash. He did

not have the courage to mention it. Sign the bill and let me beat

the men who are trying to beat me. I will support you in the

future with any amount of money or influence that I can bring to

bear in any political contest you may choose to enter, state or

national. "

Cowperwood's eyes glowed like a large, genial collie's. There was

a suggestion of sympathetic appeal in them, rich and deep, and,

even more than that, a philosophic perception of ineffable things.

Swanson arose. " You really don't mean to say that you are trying

to bribe me openly, do you? " he inquired. In spite of a conventional

impulse to burst forth in moralistic denunciation, solemnly phrased,

he was compelled for the moment to see the other man's viewpoint.

They were working in different directions, going different ways,

to what ultimate end?

" Mr. Cowperwood, " continued the governor, his face a physiognomy

out of Goya, his eye alight with a kind of understanding sympathy,

" I suppose I ought to resent this, but I can't. I see your point

of view. I'm sorry, but I can't help you nor myself. My political

belief, my ideals, compel me to veto this bill; when I forsake

these I am done politically with myself. I may not be elected

governor again, but that does not matter, either. I could use

your money, but I won't. I shall have to bid you good morning. "

He moved toward the safe, slowly, opened it, took out the bag and

brought it over.

" You must take that with you, " he added.

The two men looked at each other a moment curiously, sadly--the

one with a burden of financial, political, and moral worry on his

spirit, the other with an unconquerable determination not to be

worsted even in defeat.

" Governor, " concluded Cowperwood, in the most genial, contented,

undisturbed voice, " you will live to see another legislature pass

and another governor sign some such bill. It will not be done

this session, apparently, but it will be done. I am not through,

because my case is right and fair. Just the same, after you have

vetoed the bill, come and see me, and I will loan you that one

hundred thousand if you want it. "

Cowperwood went out. Swanson vetoed the bill. It is on record

that subsequently he borrowed one hundred thousand dollars from

Cowperwood to stay him from ruin.

Chapter LVI

The Ordeal of Berenice

At the news that Swanson had refused to sign the bill and that the

legislature lacked sufficient courage to pass it over his veto

both Schryhart and Hand literally rubbed their hands in comfortable

satisfaction.

" Well, Hosmer, " said Schryhart the next day, when they met at their

favorite club--the Union League--" it looks as though we were making

some little progress, after all, doesn't it? Our friend didn't

succeed in turning that little trick, did he? "

He beamed almost ecstatically upon his solid companion.

" Not this time. I wonder what move he will decide to make next. "

" I don't see very well what it can be. He knows now that he can't

get his franchises without a compromise that will eat into his

profits, and if that happens he can't sell his Union Traction

stock. This legislative scheme of his must have cost him all of

three hundred thousand dollars, and what has he to show for it?

The new legislature, unless I'm greatly mistaken, will be afraid

to touch anything in connection with him. It's hardly likely that

any of the Springfield politicians will want to draw the fire of

the newspapers again. "

Schryhart felt very powerful, imposing--sleek, indeed--now that

his theory of newspaper publicity as a cure was apparently beginning

to work. Hand, more saturnine, more responsive to the uncertainty

of things mundane--the shifty undercurrents that are perpetually

sapping and mining below--was agreeable, but not sure. Perhaps so.

In regard to his Eastern life during this interlude, Cowperwood

had been becoming more and more keenly alive to the futility of

the attempt to effect a social rescue for Aileen. " What was the

use? " he often asked himself, as he contemplated her movements,

thoughts, plans, as contrasted with the natural efficiency, taste,

grace, and subtlety of a woman like Berenice. He felt that the

latter could, if she would, smooth over in an adroit way all the

silly social antagonisms which were now afflicting him. It was a

woman's game, he frequently told himself, and would never be

adjusted till he had the woman.

Simultaneously Aileen, looking at the situation from her own point

of view and nonplussed by the ineffectiveness of mere wealth when

not combined with a certain social something which she did not

appear to have, was, nevertheless, unwilling to surrender her

dream. What was it, she asked herself over and over, that made

this great difference between women and women? The question contained

its own answer, but she did not know that. She was still

good-looking--very--and an adept in self-ornamentation, after her

manner and taste. So great had been the newspaper palaver regarding

the arrival of a new multimillionaire from the West and the palace

he was erecting that even tradesmen, clerks, and hall-boys knew

of her. Almost invariably, when called upon to state her name in

such quarters, she was greeted by a slight start of recognition,

a swift glance of examination, whispers, even open comment. That

was something. Yet how much more, and how different were those

rarefied reaches of social supremacy to which popular repute bears

scarcely any relationship at all. How different, indeed? From

what Cowperwood had said in Chicago she had fancied that when they

took up their formal abode in New York he would make an attempt

to straighten out his life somewhat, to modify the number of his

indifferent amours and to present an illusion of solidarity and

unity. Yet, now that they had actually arrived, she noticed that

he was more concerned with his heightened political and financial

complications in Illinois and with his art-collection than he was

with what might happen to be going on in the new home or what could

be made to happen there. As in the days of old, she was constantly

puzzled by his persistent evenings out and his sudden appearances

and disappearances. Yet, determine as she might, rage secretly

or openly as she would, she could not cure herself of the infection

of Cowperwood, the lure that surrounded and substantiated a mind

and spirit far greater than any other she had ever known. Neither

honor, virtue, consistent charity, nor sympathy was there, but

only a gay, foamy, unterrified sufficiency and a creative,

constructive sense of beauty that, like sunlit spray, glowing with

all the irradiative glories of the morning, danced and fled, spun

driftwise over a heavy sea of circumstance. Life, however dark

and somber, could never apparently cloud his soul. Brooding and

idling in the wonder palace of his construction, Aileen could see

what he was like. The silver fountain in the court of orchids,

the peach-like glow of the pink marble chamber, with its birds

and flowers, the serried brilliance of his amazing art-collections

were all like him, were really the color of his soul. To think

that after all she was not the one to bind him to subjection, to

hold him by golden yet steely threads of fancy to the hem of her

garment! To think that he should no longer walk, a slave of his

desire, behind the chariot of her spiritual and physical superiority.

Yet she could not give up.

By this time Cowperwood had managed through infinite tact and a

stoic disregard of his own aches and pains to re-establish at least

a temporary working arrangement with the Carter household. To

Mrs. Carter he was still a Heaven-sent son of light. Actually in

a mournful way she pleaded for Cowperwood, vouching for his

disinterestedness and long-standing generosity. Berenice, on the

other hand, was swept between her craving for a great state for

herself--luxury, power--and her desire to conform to the current

ethics and morals of life. Cowperwood was married, and because

of his attitude of affection for her his money was tainted. She

had long speculated on his relation to Aileen, the basis of their

differences, had often wondered why neither she nor her mother had

ever been introduced. What type of woman was the second Mrs.

Cowperwood? Beyond generalities Cowperwood had never mentioned

her. Berenice actually thought to seek her out in some inconspicuous

way, but, as it chanced, one night her curiosity was rewarded

without effort. She was at the opera with friends, and her escort

nudged her arm.

" Have you noticed Box 9--the lady in white satin with the green

lace shawl? "

" Yes. " Berenice raised her glasses.

" Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood, the wife of the Chicago millionaire.

They have just built that house at 68th Street. He has part lease

of number 9, I believe. "

Berenice almost started, but retained her composure, giving merely

an indifferent glance. A little while after, she adjusted her

glasses carefully and studied Mrs. Cowperwood. She noted curiously

that Aileen's hair was somewhat the color of her own--more carroty

red. She studied her eyes, which were slightly ringed, her smooth

cheeks and full mouth, thickened somewhat by drinking and dissipation.

Aileen was good-looking, she thought--handsome in a material way,

though so much older than herself. Was it merely age that was

alienating Cowperwood, or was it some deep-seated intellectual

difference? Obviously Mrs. Cowperwood was well over forty--a fact

which did not give Berenice any sense of satisfaction or of

advantage. She really did not care enough. It did occur to her,

however, that this woman whom she was observing had probably given

the best years of her life to Cowperwood--the brilliant years of

her girlhood. And now he was tired of her! There were small

carefully powdered lines at the tails of Aileen's eyes and at the

corners of her mouth. At the same time she seemed preternaturally

gay, kittenish, spoiled. With her were two men--one a well-known

actor, sinisterly handsome, a man with a brutal, unclean reputation,

the other a young social pretender--both unknown to Berenice. Her

knowledge was to come from her escort, a loquacious youth, more

or less versed, as it happened, in the gay life of the city.

" I hear that she is creating quite a stir in Bohemia, " he observed.

" If she expects to enter society it's a poor way to begin, don't

you think? "

" Do you know that she expects to? "

" All the usual signs are out--a box here, a house on Fifth Avenue. "

This study of Aileen puzzled and disturbed Berenice a little.

Nevertheless, she felt immensely superior. Her soul seemed to

soar over the plain Aileen inhabited. The type of the latter's

escorts suggested error--a lack of social discrimination. Because

of the high position he had succeeded in achieving Cowperwood was

entitled, no doubt, to be dissatisfied. His wife had not kept

pace with him, or, rather, had not eluded him in his onward flight

--had not run swiftly before, like a winged victory. Berenice

reflected that if she were dealing with such a man he should never

know her truly--he should be made to wonder and to doubt. Lines

of care and disappointment should never mar her face. She would

scheme and dream and conceal and evade. He should dance attendance,

whoever he was.

Nevertheless, here she herself was, at twenty-two, unmarried, her

background insecure, the very ground on which she walked treacherous.

Braxmar knew, and Beales Chadsey, and Cowperwood. At least three

or four of her acquaintances must have been at the Waldorf on that

fatal night. How long would it be before others became aware? She

tried eluding her mother, Cowperwood, and the situation generally

by freely accepting more extended invitations and by trying to see

whether there was not some opening for her in the field of art.

She thought of painting and essayed several canvases which she

took to dealers. The work was subtle, remote, fanciful--a snow

scene with purple edges; a thinking satyr, iron-like in his

heaviness, brooding over a cloudy valley; a lurking devil peering

at a praying Marguerite; a Dutch interior inspired by Mrs. Batjer,

and various dancing figures. Phlegmatic dealers of somber mien

admitted some promise, but pointed out the difficulty of sales.

Beginners were numerous. Art was long. If she went on, of

course. . . . Let them see other things. She turned her thoughts

to dancing.

This art in its interpretative sense was just being introduced

into America, a certain Althea Baker having created a good deal

of stir in society by this means. With the idea of duplicating

or surpassing the success of this woman Berenice conceived a dance

series of her own. One was to be " The Terror" --a nymph dancing

in the spring woods, but eventually pursued and terrorized by a

faun; another, " The Peacock, " a fantasy illustrative of proud

self-adulation; another, " The Vestal, " a study from Roman choric

worship. After spending considerable time at Pocono evolving

costumes, poses, and the like, Berenice finally hinted at the plan

to Mrs. Batjer, declaring that she would enjoy the artistic outlet

it would afford, and indicating at the same time that it might

provide the necessary solution of a problem of ways and means.

" Why, Bevy, how you talk! " commented Mrs. Batjer. " And with your

possibilities. Why don't you marry first, and do your dancing

afterward? You might compel a certain amount of attention that

way. "

" Because of hubby? How droll! Whom would you suggest that I marry

at once? "

" Oh, when it comes to that--" replied Mrs. Batjer, with a slight

reproachful lift in her voice, and thinking of Kilmer Duelma.

" But surely your need isn't so pressing. If you were to take up

professional dancing I might have to cut you afterward--particularly

if any one else did. "

She smiled the sweetest, most sensible smile. Mrs. Batjer accompanied

her suggestions nearly always with a slight sniff and cough.

Berenice could see that the mere fact of this conversation made a

slight difference. In Mrs. Batjer's world poverty was a dangerous

topic. The mere odor of it suggested a kind of horror--perhaps

the equivalent of error or sin. Others, Berenice now suspected,

would take affright even more swiftly.

Subsequent to this, however, she made one slight investigation of

those realms that govern professional theatrical engagements. It

was a most disturbing experience. The mere color and odor of the

stuffy offices, the gauche, material attendants, the impossible

aspirants and participants in this make-believe world! The crudeness!

The effrontery! The materiality! The sensuality! It came to her

as a sickening breath and for the moment frightened her. What

would become of refinement there? What of delicacy? How could one

rise and sustain an individual dignity and control in such a world

as this?

Cowperwood was now suggesting as a binding link that he should buy

a home for them in Park Avenue, where such social functions as

would be of advantage to Berenice and in some measure to himself

as an occasional guest might be indulged in. Mrs. Carter, a fool

of comfort, was pleased to welcome this idea. It promised to give

her absolute financial security for the future.

" I know how it is with you, Frank, " she declared. " I know you

need some place that you can call a home. The whole difficulty

will be with Bevy. Ever since that miserable puppy made those

charges against me I haven't been able to talk to her at all. She

doesn't seem to want to do anything I suggest. You have much more

influence with her than I have. If you explain, it may be all

right. "

Instantly Cowperwood saw an opportunity. Intensely pleased with

this confession of weakness on the part of the mother, he went to

Berenice, but by his usual method of indirect direction.

" You know, Bevy, " he said, one afternoon when he found her alone,

" I have been wondering if it wouldn't be better if I bought a large

house for you and your mother here in New York, where you and she

could do entertaining on a large scale. Since I can't spend my

money on myself, I might as well spend it on some one who would

make an interesting use of it. You might include me as an uncle

or father's cousin or something of that sort, " he added, lightly.

Berenice, who saw quite clearly the trap he was setting for her,

was nonplussed. At the same time she could not help seeing that

a house, if it were beautifully furnished, would be an interesting

asset. People in society loved fixed, notable dwellings; she had

observed that. What functions could not be held if only her

mother's past were not charged against her! That was the great

difficulty. It was almost an Arabian situation, heightened by the

glitter of gold. And Cowperwood was always so diplomatic. He

came forward with such a bland, engaging smile. His hands were

so shapely and seeking.

" A house such as you speak of would enlarge the debt beyond payment,

I presume, " she remarked, sardonically and with a sad, almost

contemptuous gesture. Cowperwood realized how her piercing intellect

was following his shifty trail, and winced. She must see that her

fate was in his hands, but oh! if she would only surrender, how

swiftly every dollar of his vast fortune should be piled humbly at

her feet. She should have her heart's desire, if money would buy

it. She could say to him go, and he would go; come, and he would

come.

" Berenice, " he said, getting up, " I know what you think. You fancy

I am trying to further my own interests in this way, but I'm not.

I wouldn't compromise you ultimately for all the wealth of India.

I have told you where I stand. Every dollar that I have is yours

to do with as you choose on any basis that you may care to name.

I have no future outside of you, none except art. I do not expect

you to marry me. Take all that I have. Wipe society under your

feet. Don't think that I will ever charge it up as a debt. I

won't. I want you to hold your own. Just answer me one question;

I won't ever ask another. "

" Yes? "

" If I were single now, and you were not in love or married, would

you consider me at all? "

His eyes pleaded as never had they pleaded before.

She started, looked concerned, severe, then relaxed as suddenly.

" Let me see, " she said, with a slight brightening of the eyes and

a toss of her head. " That is a second cousin to a proposal, isn't

it? You have no right to make it. You aren't single, and aren't

likely to be. Why should I try to read the future? "

She walked indifferently out of the room, and Cowperwood stayed a

moment to think. Obviously he had triumphed in a way. She had

not taken great offense. She must like him and would marry him

if only...

Only Aileen.

And now he wished more definitely and forcefully than ever that

he were really and truly free. He felt that if ever he wished to

attain Berenice he must persuade Aileen to divorce him.

Chapter LVII

Aileen's Last Card

It was not until some little time after they were established in

the new house that Aileen first came upon any evidence of the

existence of Berenice Fleming. In a general way she assumed that

there were women--possibly some of whom she had known--Stephanie,

Mrs. Hand, Florence Cochrane, or later arrivals--yet so long as

they were not obtruded on her she permitted herself the semi-comforting

thought that things were not as bad as they might be. So long,

indeed, as Cowperwood was genuinely promiscuous, so long as he

trotted here and there, not snared by any particular siren, she

could not despair, for, after all, she had ensnared him and held

him deliciously--without variation, she believed, for all of ten

years--a feat which no other woman had achieved before or after.

Rita Sohlberg might have succeeded--the beast! How she hated the

thought of Rita! By this time, however, Cowperwood was getting on

in years. The day must come when he would be less keen for

variability, or, at least, would think it no longer worth while

to change. If only he did not find some one woman, some Circe,

who would bind and enslave him in these Later years as she had

herself done in his earlier ones all might yet be well. At the

same time she lived in daily terror of a discovery which was soon

to follow.

She had gone out one day to pay a call on some one to whom Rhees

Grier, the Chicago sculptor, had given her an introduction.

Crossing Central Park in one of the new French machines which

Cowperwood had purchased for her indulgence, her glance wandered

down a branch road to where another automobile similar to her own

was stalled. It was early in the afternoon, at which time Cowperwood

was presumably engaged in Wall Street. Yet there he was, and with

him two women, neither of whom, in the speed of passing, could

Aileen quite make out. She had her car halted and driven to within

seeing-distance behind a clump of bushes. A chauffeur whom she

did not know was tinkering at a handsome machine, while on the

grass near by stood Cowperwood and a tall, slender girl with red

hair somewhat like Aileen's own. Her expression was aloof, poetic,

rhapsodical. Aileen could not analyze it, but it fixed her attention

completely. In the tonneau sat an elderly lady, whom Aileen at

once assumed to be the girl's mother. Who were they? What was

Cowperwood doing here in the Park at this hour? Where were they

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