ve no future
outside of you, none except art. I do not expect you to marry me.
Take all that I have. Wipe society under your feet. Don't think that
I will ever charge it up as a debt. I won't. I want you to hold your
own. Just answer me one question; I won't ever ask another."

"Yes?"

"If I were single now, and you were not in love or married, would you
consider me at all?"

His eyes pleaded as never had they pleaded before.

She started, looked concerned, severe, then relaxed as suddenly. "Let
me see," she said, with a slight brightening of the eyes and a toss of
her head. "That is a second cousin to a proposal, isn't it? You have
no right to make it. You aren't single, and aren't likely to be. Why
should I try to read the future?"

She walked indifferently out of the room, and Cowperwood stayed a
moment to think. Obviously he had triumphed in a way. She had not
taken great offense. She must like him and would marry him if only...

Only Aileen.

And now he wished more definitely and forcefully than ever that he were
really and truly free. He felt that if ever he wished to attain
Berenice he must persuade Aileen to divorce him.

Chapter LVII

Aileen's Last Card

It was not until some little time after they were established in the
new house that Aileen first came upon any evidence of the existence of
Berenice Fleming. In a general way she assumed that there were
women--possibly some of whom she had known--Stephanie, Mrs. Hand,
Florence Cochrane, or later arrivals--yet so long as they were not
obtruded on her she permitted herself the semi-comforting thought that
things were not as bad as they might be. So long, indeed, as
Cowperwood was genuinely promiscuous, so long as he trotted here and
there, not snared by any particular siren, she could not despair, for,
after all, she had ensnared him and held him deliciously--without
variation, she believed, for all of ten years--a feat which no other
woman had achieved before or after. Rita Sohlberg might have
succeeded--the beast! How she hated the thought of Rita! By this time,
however, Cowperwood was getting on in years. The day must come when he
would be less keen for variability, or, at least, would think it no
longer worth while to change. If only he did not find some one woman,
some Circe, who would bind and enslave him in these Later years as she
had herself done in his earlier ones all might yet be well. At the
same time she lived