keep you very long."

"Why, if that's the case, I'll come right out." And Butler returned to
the dining-room to put down his napkin. Aileen, who was also dining,
had heard Cowperwood's voice, and was on the qui vive to see him. She
wondered what it was that brought him at this time of night to see her
father. She could not leave the table at once, but hoped to before he
went. Cowperwood was thinking of her, even in the face of this impending
storm, as he was of his wife, and many other things. If his affairs
came down in a heap it would go hard with those attached to him. In
this first clouding of disaster, he could not tell how things
would eventuate. He meditated on this desperately, but he was not
panic-stricken. His naturally even-molded face was set in fine, classic
lines; his eyes were as hard as chilled steel.

"Well, now," exclaimed Butler, returning, his countenance manifesting
a decidedly comfortable relationship with the world as at present
constituted. "What's up with you to-night? Nawthin' wrong, I hope. It's
been too fine a day."

"Nothing very serious, I hope myself," replied Cowperwood, "But I want
to talk with you a few minutes, anyhow. Don't you think we had better go
up to your room?"

"I was just going to say that," replied Butler--"the cigars are up
there."

They started from the reception-room to the stairs, Butler preceding
and as the contractor mounted, Aileen came out from the dining-room in
a frou-frou of silk. Her splendid hair was drawn up from the base of the
neck and the line of the forehead into some quaint convolutions which
constituted a reddish-gold crown. Her complexion was glowing, and her
bare arms and shoulders shone white against the dark red of her evening
gown. She realized there was something wrong.

"Oh, Mr. Cowperwood, how do you do?" she exclaimed, coming forward and
holding out her hand as her father went on upstairs. She was delaying
him deliberately in order to have a word with him and this bold acting
was for the benefit of the others.

"What's the trouble, honey?" she whispered, as soon as her father was
out of hearing. "You look worried."

"Nothing much, I hope, sweet," he said. "Chicago is burning up and
there's going to be trouble to-morrow. I have to talk to your father."

She had time only for a sympathetic, distressed "Oh," before he withdrew
his hand and followed Butler upstairs. She squeezed his arm, and went
through the reception-room to the parlor. S