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separation; but they could not be helped. People outgrew each other. Their points of view
altered at varying ratios--hence changes. Morals--those who had them had them; those who
hadn't, hadn't. There was no explaining. As for him, he saw nothing wrong in the sex
relationship. Between those who were mutually compatible it was innocent and delicious. Aileen
in his arms, unmarried, but loved by him, and he by her, was as good and pure as any living
woman--a great deal purer than most. One found oneself in a given social order, theory, or
scheme of things. For purposes of social success, in order not to offend, to smooth one's path,
make things easy, avoid useless criticism, and the like, it was necessary to create an outward
seeming--ostensibly conform. Beyond that it was not necessary to do anything. Never fail, never
get caught. If you did, fight your way out silently and say nothing. That was what he was doing
in connection with his present financial troubles; that was what he had been ready to do the
other day when they were caught. It was something of all this that was coloring Aileen's mood
as she listened at present. 
"But father," she protested, "I love Mr. Cowperwood. It's almost the same as if I were married to
him. He will marry me some day when he gets a divorce from Mrs. Cowperwood. You don't
understand how it is. He's very fond of me, and I love him. He needs me."
Butler looked at her with strange, non-understanding eyes. "Divorce, did you say," he began,
thinking of the Catholic Church and its dogma in regard to that. "He'll divorce his own wife and
children-- and for you, will he? He needs you, does he?" he added, sarcastically. "What about
his wife and children? I don't suppose they need him, do they? What talk have ye?"
Aileen flung her head back defiantly. "It's true, nevertheless," she reiterated. "You just don't
understand."
Butler could scarcely believe his ears. He had never heard such talk before in his life from any
one. It amazed and shocked him. He was quite aware of all the subtleties of politics and
business, but these of romance were too much for him. He knew nothing about them. To think a
daughter of his should be talking like this, and she a Catholic! He could not understand where
she got such notions unless it was from the Machiavellian, corrupting brain of Cowperwood
himself. 
"How long have ye had these notions, my child?" he suddenly asked, calmly and soberly.
"Where did ye get them? Ye certainly never heard anything like that in this house, I warrant. Ye
talk as though ye had gone out of yer mind."
"Oh, don't talk nonsense, father," flared Aileen, angrily, thinking how hopeless it was to talk to
her father about such things anyhow. "I'm not a child any more. I'm twenty-four years of age.
You just don't understand. Mr. Cowperwood doesn't like his wife. He's going to get a divorce
when he can, and will marry me. I love him, and he loves me, and that's all there is to it."
"Is it, though?" asked Butler, grimly determined by hook or by crook, to bring this girl to her
senses. "Ye'll be takin' no thought of his wife and children then? The fact that he's goin' to jail,
besides, is nawthin' to ye, I suppose. Ye'd love him just as much in convict stripes, I
suppose--more, maybe." (The old man was at his best, humanly speaking, when he was a little
sarcastic.) "Ye'll have him that way, likely, if at all."
Aileen blazed at once to a furious heat. "Yes, I know," she sneered. "That's what you would like.
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