We'll soon see real winter now."
Old John began to offer the various dishes in order; but when all had been served Aileen had not yet come.
"See where Aileen is, John," observed Mrs. Butler, interestedly.
"The meal will be gettin' cold."
Old John returned with the news that Aileen was not in her room.
"Sure she must be somewhere," commented Mrs. Butler, only slightly perplexed.
"She'll be comin', though, never mind, if she wants to.
She knows it's meal-time."
The conversation drifted from a new water-works that was being planned to the new city hall, then nearing completion; Cowperwood's financial and social troubles, and the state of the stock market generally; a new gold-mine in Arizona; the departure of Mrs. Mollenhauer the following Tuesday for Europe, with appropriate comments by Norah and Callum; and a Christmas ball that was going to be given for charity.
"Aileen'll be wantin' to go to that," commented Mrs. Butler.
"I'm going, you bet," put in Norah.
"Who's going to take you?" asked Callum.
"That's my affair, mister," she replied, smartly.
The meal was over, and Mrs. Butler strolled up to Aileen's room to see why she had not come down to dinner.
Butler entered his den, wishing so much that he could take his wife into his confidence concerning all that was worrying him.
On his desk, as he sat down and turned up the light, he saw the note.
He recognized Aileen's handwriting at once.
What could she mean by writing him?
A sense of the untoward came to him, and he tore it open slowly, and, putting on his glasses, contemplated it solemnly.
So Aileen was gone.
The old man stared at each word as if it had been written in fire.
She said she had not gone with Cowperwood.
It was possible, just the same, that he had run away from Philadelphia and taken her with him.
This was the last straw.
This ended it.
Aileen lured away from home—to where—to what?
Butler could scarcely believe, though, that Cowperwood had tempted her to do this.
He had too much at stake; it would involve his own and Butler's families.
The papers would be certain to get it quickly.
He got up, crumpling the paper in his hand, and turned about at a noise.
His wife was coming in.
He pulled himself together and shoved the letter in his pocket.
"Aileen's not in her room," she said, curiously.
"She didn't say anything to you about going out, did she?"
"No," he replied, truthfully, wondering how soon he should have to tell his wife.
"That's odd," observed Mrs. Butler, doubtfully. "She must have gone out after somethin'.
It's a wonder she wouldn't tell somebody."
Butler gave no sign. He dared not.
"She'll be back," he said, more in order to gain time than anything else.
He was sorry to have to pretend.
Mrs. Butler went out, and he closed the door.
Then he took out the letter and read it again.
The girl was crazy.
She was doing an absolutely wild, inhuman, senseless thing.
Where could she go, except to Cowperwood?
She was on the verge of a public scandal, and this would produce it.
There was just one thing to do as far as he could see.
Cowperwood, if he were still in Philadelphia, would know.
He would go to him—threaten, cajole, actually destroy him, if necessary.
Aileen must come back.