his girl. Why fear
anything, if only he could figure out a way to achieve it without harm
to himself? At the same time he thought it might never be possible for
him to figure out any practical or protective program for either himself
or Aileen, and that made him silent and reflective. For by now he was
intensely drawn to her, as he could feel--something chemic and hence
dynamic was uppermost in him now and clamoring for expression.

At the same time, in contemplating his wife in connection with all
this, he had many qualms, some emotional, some financial. While she had
yielded to his youthful enthusiasm for her after her husband's death,
he had only since learned that she was a natural conservator of public
morals--the cold purity of the snowdrift in so far as the world might
see, combined at times with the murky mood of the wanton. And yet, as he
had also learned, she was ashamed of the passion that at times swept and
dominated her. This irritated Cowperwood, as it would always irritate
any strong, acquisitive, direct-seeing temperament. While he had no
desire to acquaint the whole world with his feelings, why should there
be concealment between them, or at least mental evasion of a fact which
physically she subscribed to? Why do one thing and think another? To be
sure, she was devoted to him in her quiet way, not passionately (as
he looked back he could not say that she had ever been that), but
intellectually. Duty, as she understood it, played a great part in this.
She was dutiful. And then what people thought, what the time-spirit
demanded--these were the great things. Aileen, on the contrary, was
probably not dutiful, and it was obvious that she had no temperamental
connection with current convention. No doubt she had been as well
instructed as many another girl, but look at her. She was not obeying
her instructions.

In the next three months this relationship took on a more flagrant form.
Aileen, knowing full well what her parents would think, how unspeakable
in the mind of the current world were the thoughts she was thinking,
persisted, nevertheless, in so thinking and longing. Cowperwood, now
that she had gone thus far and compromised herself in intention, if not
in deed, took on a peculiar charm for her. It was not his body--great
passion is never that, exactly. The flavor of his spirit was what
attracted and compelled, like the glow of a flame to a moth. There was
a light of romance in his eyes, which, howeve