ing to make a
scapegoat of him, Butler, nevertheless, was not considered to be wholly
alienated as a friend, and civility must prevail. He would like very
much to placate him if he could, to talk out the hard facts of life in a
quiet and friendly way. But this matter of Aileen had to be adjusted now
once and for all. And with that thought in his mind he walked quickly
into Butler's presence.

The old man, when he learned that Cowperwood was in and would see him,
determined to make his contact with the financier as short and effective
as possible. He moved the least bit when he heard Cowperwood's step, as
light and springy as ever.

"Good evening, Mr. Butler," said Cowperwood, cheerfully, when he saw
him, extending his hand. "What can I do for you?"

"Ye can take that away from in front of me, for one thing," said Butler,
grimly referring to his hand. "I have no need of it. It's my daughter
I've come to talk to ye about, and I want plain answers. Where is she?"

"You mean Aileen?" said Cowperwood, looking at him with steady, curious,
unrevealing eyes, and merely interpolating this to obtain a moment for
reflection. "What can I tell you about her?"

"Ye can tell me where she is, that I know. And ye can make her come back
to her home, where she belongs. It was bad fortune that ever brought ye
across my doorstep; but I'll not bandy words with ye here. Ye'll tell me
where my daughter is, and ye'll leave her alone from now, or I'll--" The
old man's fists closed like a vise, and his chest heaved with suppressed
rage. "Ye'll not be drivin' me too far, man, if ye're wise," he added,
after a time, recovering his equanimity in part. "I want no truck with
ye. I want my daughter."

"Listen, Mr. Butler," said Cowperwood, quite calmly, relishing the
situation for the sheer sense of superiority it gave him. "I want to
be perfectly frank with you, if you will let me. I may know where your
daughter is, and I may not. I may wish to tell you, and I may not. She
may not wish me to. But unless you wish to talk with me in a civil way
there is no need of our going on any further. You are privileged to do
what you like. Won't you come up-stairs to my room? We can talk more
comfortably there."

Butler looked at his former protege in utter astonishment. He had
never before in all his experience come up against a more ruthless
type--suave, bland, forceful, unterrified. This man had certainly
come to him as a sheep, and had turned out to be