New York, I thought, was much more important, the real city for a man of wealth.
And so I decided to try there.
I was beginning to think I might not always want to live with Aileen, but, if you will believe it, that was after I saw your picture in Louisville—the one I have in my pocket.
It was only after that that I decided to build the house in New York, and make it into an art gallery as well as a residence.
And then, eventually, if you ever became interested in me . . .”
“And so the great house that I am never to occupy was built for me,” mused Berenice.
“How strange!”
“Life is like that,” said Cowperwood.
“But we can be happy.”
“I know that,” she said.
“I was merely thinking of the strangeness of it.
And I wouldn’t disturb Aileen for anything.”
“You are both liberal and wise, I know. You will perhaps manage things better than I could.”
“I believe I can manage,” returned Berenice calmly.
“But besides Aileen, there are the newspapers.
They follow me everywhere.
And once they hear of this London idea, assuming that I undertake it, there’ll be fireworks!
And if ever your name becomes connected with mine, you’ll be pursued as a chicken is by hawks.
One solution might be for me to adopt you, or maybe carry this idea of my being your guardian on into England.
That would give me the right to be with you and to pretend to be looking after your property.
What do you think?”
“Well, yes,” she said slowly. “I can’t see any other way. But that London matter will have to be thought out very carefully.
And I am not thinking of myself alone.”
“I’m sure of it,” replied Cowperwood, “but with a little luck, we should get by.
One of the things we must do is to avoid being seen together too much, I suppose.
But first of all, we must think of a way to distract the attention of Aileen.
For, of course, she knows all about you.
Because of my contact with you and your mother in New York, she has suspected for a long time that there was an intrigue between us.
I was never in a position to tell you that; you didn’t seem to like me well enough.”
“Didn’t really know you well enough,” corrected Berenice.
“You were too much of an enigma.”
“And now . . .?”
“Just as much so as ever, I fear.”
“I doubt that.
In regard to Aileen, though, I have no solution.
She is so suspicious.
As long as I am here in this country, and appear in New York occasionally, she doesn’t seem to mind.
But if I left, and appeared to be settling in London, and the newspapers discussed it . . .” he paused, meditating.
“You’re afraid she will talk, or follow you and make a scene—something of that sort?”
“It’s hard to say what she might or might not do.
With a little diversion of some sort, she might not do anything.
On the other hand, and particularly since she’s taken to drinking in the last few years, she might do anything.
Several years ago, in one of her brooding fits, and when she was drinking, she tried to kill herself.” (Berenice frowned.) “I prevented that by breaking in and talking rather forcibly to her.”
He described the scene, but did not picture himself as uncompromising as he had been.
Berenice listened, convinced at last of Aileen’s undying love, and feeling that now she was adding one more thorn to her inescapable crown.
Only, as she reasoned, nothing that she could do would change Cowperwood.
As for herself, and her desire for some sort of revenge on society . . . well, she cared for him, too.
She really did.
He was like a strong drug.
His mental as well as his physical charm was enormous, really irresistible.