r governed and
controlled--was directive and almost all-powerful to her.

When he touched her hand at parting, it was as though she had received
an electric shock, and she recalled that it was very difficult for her
to look directly into his eyes. Something akin to a destructive force
seemed to issue from them at times. Other people, men particularly,
found it difficult to face Cowperwood's glazed stare. It was as though
there were another pair of eyes behind those they saw, watching through
thin, obscuring curtains. You could not tell what he was thinking.

And during the next few months she found herself coming closer and
closer to Cowperwood. At his home one evening, seated at the piano, no
one else being present at the moment, he leaned over and kissed her.
There was a cold, snowy street visible through the interstices of the
hangings of the windows, and gas-lamps flickering outside. He had come
in early, and hearing Aileen, he came to where she was seated at the
piano. She was wearing a rough, gray wool cloth dress, ornately banded
with fringed Oriental embroidery in blue and burnt-orange, and her
beauty was further enhanced by a gray hat planned to match her dress,
with a plume of shaded orange and blue. On her fingers were four or
five rings, far too many--an opal, an emerald, a ruby, and a
diamond--flashing visibly as she played.

She knew it was he, without turning. He came beside her, and she looked
up smiling, the reverie evoked by Schubert partly vanishing--or melting
into another mood. Suddenly he bent over and pressed his lips firmly
to hers. His mustache thrilled her with its silky touch. She stopped
playing and tried to catch her breath, for, strong as she was, it
affected her breathing. Her heart was beating like a triphammer. She did
not say, "Oh," or, "You mustn't," but rose and walked over to a window,
where she lifted a curtain, pretending to look out. She felt as though
she might faint, so intensely happy was she.

Cowperwood followed her quickly. Slipping his arms about her waist, he
looked at her flushed cheeks, her clear, moist eyes and red mouth.

"You love me?" he whispered, stern and compelling because of his desire.

"Yes! Yes! You know I do."

He crushed her face to his, and she put up her hands and stroked his
hair.

A thrilling sense of possession, mastery, happiness and understanding,
love of her and of her body, suddenly overwhelmed him.

"I love you," he said, as though he we