She was now thirty, but looked twenty-five, and retained to the full the spirit of twenty.
Up to the very hour of Berenice’s arrival, and since—although Berenice did not know of this—Caroline Hand kept open house for Cowperwood, inviting whomsoever he wished to receive there.
It was her establishment on the North Side to which the Chicago newspapers had referred in their bitterest attacks on him.
She always protested that when he no longer cared for her, he should say so and she would not seek to hold him.
Considering the case of Caroline, he pondered over the idea of taking her at her word, explaining as she had suggested, and then departing.
Nevertheless, much as he cared for Berenice, that seemed a little unnecessary.
He might be able to explain to both of them.
At any rate, nothing should be allowed to mar his relationship with Berenice, to whom he promised to be as faithful as it was possible for him to be.
But his mind returned continually to the problem presented by Aileen.
He could not avoid recalling the various happenings that had drawn them together.
That first intense and dramatic fever that had bound her to him in Philadelphia, and which had contributed to, if it had not wholly brought about, his first financial ruin!
The gay, unreasoning, emotional Aileen of those days, giving all of herself so feverishly and expecting in return that perfect security which love, in all its destructive history, had never yielded to anyone!
And even now, after all these years, after what liaisons in his life and hers, she had not changed, she still loved him.
“You know, dear,” he said to Berenice,
“I feel really sorry for Aileen.
There she is, in that big house in New York, without any connections that are worth while, sought after by a lot of bounders who do nothing but persuade her to drink and carouse and then try to get money from her to pay the bills.
I know that from the servants, who are still loyal to me.”
“It certainly is pathetic,” commented Berenice, “but understandable, too.”
“I don’t want to be hard on her,” continued Cowperwood.
“As a matter of fact, I take all the blame.
What I’d like to do would be to find some attractive fellow in New York society, or on the edge of it, who, for a given sum of money, would undertake the job of socially managing and entertaining her.
I don’t mean that too literally, of course.”
And here he smiled ruefully at Berenice.
But she pretended to take no notice of it, unless a blank and brief stare, coupled with faint twitchings at the corners of her mouth, could be construed to convey the sense of satisfaction with which she received the news that he was so much in accord with her own idea.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she said, cautiously. “Maybe there are such people.”
“There must be scores of them,” said Cowperwood, practically.
“Of course, he’d have to be an American.
Aileen doesn’t like foreigners, male foreigners, I mean.
But one thing is sure, this problem should be settled soon if we’re going to have any peace and be able to move about freely.”
“I think I know of a man who might do,” interjected Berenice, thoughtfully.
“His name is Bruce Tollifer.
Of the Virginia and South Carolina Tollifers.
Perhaps you know him.”
“No.
Is he anything like the type I have in mind?”
“Well, he’s young, and very good-looking, if that’s what you mean,” went on Berenice.
“I don’t know him personally. The only time I ever saw him was at the Dania Moores, in New Jersey, at the tennis matches.
Edgar Boncille was telling me that day what a sponger the fellow was, and how he made his living out of rich women, Mrs. Dania Moore, for one.”
Here she laughed, and added:
“I think Edgar was a little afraid I might become interested in him, and I did like his looks.”
She smiled elusively, as though she knew scarcely anything about this person.
“Sounds interesting,” said Cowperwood.
“No doubt, he’s pretty well known around New York.”
“Yes. I remember Edgar said he played around Wall Street.
Wasn’t really in it; just pretense for the sake of impressing people.”
“Indeed!” said Cowperwood, looking quite pleased.
“Well, I dare say I’d have no trouble locating him, although there are plenty of his type.
I’ve met quite a few in my time.”
“It’s a little shameful, I feel,” mused Berenice.
“I wish we needn’t talk of it.