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party, Butler, in extremis, would have assisted him. Now...!
His father got up to go. He was as stiff with despair as though he were suffering from cold.
"Well," he said, wearily.
Cowperwood suffered intensely for him. What a shame! His father! He felt a great surge of
sorrow sweep over him but a moment later mastered it, and settled to his quick, defiant thinking.
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As the old man went out, Harper Steger was brought in. They shook hands, and at once started
for Stener's office. But Stener had sunk in on himself like an empty gas-bag, and no efforts were
sufficient to inflate him. They went out, finally, defeated.
"I tell you, Frank," said Steger, "I wouldn't worry. We can tie this thing up legally until election
and after, and that will give all this row a chance to die down. Then you can get your people
together and talk sense to them. They're not going to give up good properties like this, even if
Stener does go to jail."
Steger did not know of the sixty thousand dollars' worth of hypothecated securities as yet.
Neither did he know of Aileen Butler and her father's boundless rage.
Chapter XXX
There was one development in connection with all of this of which Cowperwood was as yet
unaware. The same day that brought Edward Butler the anonymous communication in regard to
his daughter, brought almost a duplicate of it to Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood, only in this
case the name of Aileen Butler had curiously been omitted.
Perhaps you don't know that your husband is running with another woman. If you don't believe
it, watch the house at 931 North Tenth Street.
Mrs. Cowperwood was in the conservatory watering some plants when this letter was brought
by her maid Monday morning. She was most placid in her thoughts, for she did not know what
all the conferring of the night before meant. Frank was occasionally troubled by financial storms,
but they did not see to harm him.
"Lay it on the table in the library, Annie. I'll get it."
She thought it was some social note.
In a little while (such was her deliberate way), she put down her sprinkling-pot and went into the
library. There it was lying on the green leather sheepskin which constituted a part of the
ornamentation of the large library table. She picked it up, glanced at it curiously because it was
on cheap paper, and then opened it. Her face paled slightly as she read it; and then her hand
trembled--not much. Hers was not a soul that ever loved passionately, hence she could not
suffer passionately. She was hurt, disgusted, enraged for the moment, and frightened; but she
was not broken in spirit entirely. Thirteen years of life with Frank Cowperwood had taught her a
number of things. He was selfish, she knew now, self-centered, and not as much charmed by
her as he had been. The fear she had originally felt as to the effect of her preponderance of
years had been to some extent justified by the lapse of time. Frank did not love her as he
had--he had not for some time; she had felt it. What was it?--she had asked herself at
times--almost, who was it? Business was engrossing him so.
Finance was his master. Did this mean the end of her regime, she queried. Would he cast her
off? Where would she go? What would she do? She was not helpless, of course, for she had
money of her own which he was manipulating for her. Who was this other woman? Was she
young, beautiful, of any social position? Was it--? Suddenly she stopped. Was it? Could it be, by
any chance--her mouth opened--Aileen Butler?
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