She might not easily be restored to a sense of of the normal and decent, and so the matter was worth taking into thought. Butler knew that ultimately he could not countenance any such thing—certainly not, and keep his faith with the Church—but he was human enough none the less to consider it.
Besides, he wanted Aileen to come back; and Aileen from now on, he knew, would have some say as to what her future should be.
"Well, it's simple enough," replied Cowperwood.
"I should like to have you withdraw your opposition to Aileen's remaining in Philadelphia, for one thing; and for another, I should like you to stop your attacks on me."
Cowperwood smiled in an ingratiating way.
He hoped really to placate Butler in part by his generous attitude throughout this procedure.
"I can't make you do that, of course, unless you want to.
I merely bring it up, Mr. Butler, because I am sure that if it hadn't been for Aileen you would not have taken the course you have taken toward me.
I understood you received an anonymous letter, and that afternoon you called your loan with me.
Since then I have heard from one source and another that you were strongly against me, and I merely wish to say that I wish you wouldn't be.
I am not guilty of embezzling any sixty thousand dollars, and you know it.
My intentions were of the best.
I did not think I was going to fail at the time I used those certificates, and if it hadn't been for several other loans that were called I would have gone on to the end of the month and put them back in time, as I always had.
I have always valued your friendship very highly, and I am very sorry to lose it.
Now I have said all I am going to say."
Butler looked at Cowperwood with shrewd, calculating eyes.
The man had some merit, but much unconscionable evil in him.
Butler knew very well how he had taken the check, and a good many other things in connection with it.
The manner in which he had played his cards to-night was on a par with the way he had run to him on the night of the fire.
He was just shrewd and calculating and heartless.
"I'll make ye no promise," he said.
"Tell me where my daughter is, and I'll think the matter over.
Ye have no claim on me now, and I owe ye no good turn.
But I'll think it over, anyhow."
"That's quite all right," replied Cowperwood.
"That's all I can expect.
But what about Aileen?
Do you expect her to leave Philadelphia?"
"Not if she settles down and behaves herself: but there must be an end of this between you and her.
She's disgracin' her family and ruinin' her soul in the bargain.
And that's what you are doin' with yours.
It'll be time enough to talk about anything else when you're a free man.
More than that I'll not promise."
Cowperwood, satisfied that this move on Aileen's part had done her a real service if it had not aided him especially, was convinced that it would be a good move for her to return to her home at once.
He could not tell how his appeal to the State Supreme Court would eventuate.
His motion for a new trial which was now to be made under the privilege of the certificate of reasonable doubt might not be granted, in which case he would have to serve a term in the penitentiary.
If he were compelled to go to the penitentiary she would be safer—better off in the bosom of her family.
His own hands were going to be exceedingly full for the next two months until he knew how his appeal was coming out.
And after that—well, after that he would fight on, whatever happened.
During all the time that Cowperwood had been arguing his case in this fashion he had been thinking how he could adjust this compromise so as to retain the affection of Aileen and not offend her sensibilities by urging her to return.
He knew that she would not agree to give up seeing him, and he was not willing that she should.
Unless he had a good and sufficient reason, he would be playing a wretched part by telling Butler where she was.
He did not intend to do so until he saw exactly how to do it—the way that would make it most acceptable to Aileen.
He knew that she would not long be happy where she was.
Her flight was due in part to Butler's intense opposition to himself and in part to his determination to make her leave Philadelphia and behave; but this last was now in part obviated.
Butler, in spite of his words, was no longer a stern Nemesis.
He was a melting man—very anxious to find his daughter, very willing to forgive her.
He was whipped, literally beaten, at his own game, and Cowperwood could see it in the old man's eyes.
If he himself could talk to Aileen personally and explain just how things were, he felt sure he could make her see that it would be to their mutual advantage, for the present at least, to have the matter amicably settled. The thing to do was to make Butler wait somewhere—here, possibly—while he went and talked to her.
When she learned how things were she would probably acquiesce.