She need not go to Europe, perhaps, but she must come back and behave herself at least until Cowperwood could legitimately marry her.
That was all he could expect now.
She would have to wait, and some day perhaps he could bring himself to accept her wretched proposition.
Horrible thought!
It would kill her mother, disgrace her sister.
He got up, took down his hat, put on his overcoat, and started out.
Arriving at the Cowperwood home he was shown into the reception-room.
Cowperwood at the time was in his den looking over some private papers.
When the name of Butler was announced he immediately went down-stairs.
It was characteristic of the man that the announcement of Butler's presence created no stir in him whatsoever.
So Butler had come.
That meant, of course, that Aileen had gone.
Now for a battle, not of words, but of weights of personalities.
He felt himself to be intellectually, socially, and in every other way the more powerful man of the two.
That spiritual content of him which we call life hardened to the texture of steel.
He recalled that although he had told his wife and his father that the politicians, of whom Butler was one, were trying to make a scapegoat of him, Butler, nevertheless, was not considered to be wholly alienated as a friend, and civility must prevail.
He would like very much to placate him if he could, to talk out the hard facts of life in a quiet and friendly way.
But this matter of Aileen had to be adjusted now once and for all.
And with that thought in his mind he walked quickly into Butler's presence.
The old man, when he learned that Cowperwood was in and would see him, determined to make his contact with the financier as short and effective as possible.
He moved the least bit when he heard Cowperwood's step, as light and springy as ever.
"Good evening, Mr. Butler," said Cowperwood, cheerfully, when he saw him, extending his hand.
"What can I do for you?"
"Ye can take that away from in front of me, for one thing," said Butler, grimly referring to his hand.
"I have no need of it.
It's my daughter I've come to talk to ye about, and I want plain answers. Where is she?"
"You mean Aileen?" said Cowperwood, looking at him with steady, curious, unrevealing eyes, and merely interpolating this to obtain a moment for reflection.
"What can I tell you about her?"
"Ye can tell me where she is, that I know.
And ye can make her come back to her home, where she belongs.
It was bad fortune that ever brought ye across my doorstep; but I'll not bandy words with ye here.
Ye'll tell me where my daughter is, and ye'll leave her alone from now, or I'll—" The old man's fists closed like a vise, and his chest heaved with suppressed rage.
"Ye'll not be drivin' me too far, man, if ye're wise," he added, after a time, recovering his equanimity in part.
"I want no truck with ye.
I want my daughter."
"Listen, Mr. Butler," said Cowperwood, quite calmly, relishing the situation for the sheer sense of superiority it gave him.
"I want to be perfectly frank with you, if you will let me.
I may know where your daughter is, and I may not.
I may wish to tell you, and I may not.
She may not wish me to.
But unless you wish to talk with me in a civil way there is no need of our going on any further.
You are privileged to do what you like.
Won't you come up-stairs to my room?
We can talk more comfortably there."
Butler looked at his former protege in utter astonishment.
He had never before in all his experience come up against a more ruthless type—suave, bland, forceful, unterrified.
This man had certainly come to him as a sheep, and had turned out to be a ravening wolf.
His incarceration had not put him in the least awe.
"I'll not come up to your room," Butler said, "and ye'll not get out of Philadelphy with her if that's what ye're plannin'.
I can see to that.