Do you want the police to come in here?
Stop your screaming and behave yourself, or I’ll shove a handkerchief in your mouth!
Stop, I tell you!
Stop! Do you hear me?
This is enough, you fool!”
He clapped his hand over her mouth, pressing it tight and forcing her back against him. He shook her brutally, angrily.
He was very strong.
“Now will you stop,” he insisted, “or do you want me to choke you quiet?
I will, if you don’t.
You’re out of your mind.
Stop, I tell you!
So this is the way you carry on when things don’t go to suit you?”
She was sobbing, struggling, moaning, half screaming, quite beside herself.
“Oh, you crazy fool!” he said, swinging her round, and with an effort getting out a handkerchief, which he forced over her face and in her mouth.
“There,” he said, relievedly, “now will you shut up?” holding her tight in an iron grip, he let her struggle and turn, quite ready to put an end to her breathing if necessary.
Now that he had conquered her, he continued to hold her tightly, stooping beside her on one knee, listening and meditating.
Hers was surely a terrible passion.
From some points of view he could not blame her.
Great was her provocation, great her love.
He knew her disposition well enough to have anticipated something of this sort.
Yet the wretchedness, shame, scandal of the terrible affair upset his customary equilibrium.
To think any one should give way to such a storm as this!
To think that Aileen should do it!
To think that Rita should have been so mistreated!
It was not at all unlikely that she was seriously injured, marred for life—possibly even killed.
The horror of that!
The ensuing storm of public rage!
A trial!
His whole career gone up in one terrific explosion of woe, anger, death! Great God!
He called the butler to him by a nod of his head, when the latter, who had gone out with Rita, hurried back.
“How is she?” he asked, desperately.
“Seriously hurt?”
“No, sir; I think not.
I believe she’s just fainted.
She’ll be all right in a little while, sir.
Can I be of any service, sir?”
Ordinarily Cowperwood would have smiled at such a scene. Now he was cold, sober.
“Not now,” he replied, with a sigh of relief, still holding Aileen firmly.
“Go out and close the door.
Call a doctor. Wait in the hall.
When he comes, call me.”
Aileen, conscious of things being done for Rita, of sympathy being extended to her, tried to get up, to scream again; but she couldn’t; her lord and master held her in an ugly hold.
When the door was closed he said again: “Now, Aileen, will you hush? Will you let me get up and talk to you, or must we stay here all night?
Do you want me to drop you forever after to-night?
I understand all about this, but I am in control now, and I am going to stay so.
You will come to your senses and be reasonable, or I will leave you to-morrow as sure as I am here.”
His voice rang convincingly.
“Now, shall we talk sensibly, or will you go on making a fool of yourself—disgracing me, disgracing the house, making yourself and myself the laughing-stock of the servants, the neighborhood, the city?
This is a fine showing you’ve made to-day.
Good God!