snip, if she has pink cheeks and a
doll's face, can wind you right around her finger. Rita Sohlberg did
it; Stephanie Platow did it; Florence Cochrane did it; Cecily
Haguenin--and Heaven knows how many more that I never heard of. I
suppose Mrs. Hand still lives with you in Chicago--the cheap strumpet!
Now it's Berenice Fleming and her frump of a mother. From all I can
learn you haven't been able to get her yet--because her mother's too
shrewd, perhaps--but you probably will in the end. It isn't you so
much as your money that they're after. Pah! Well, I'm unhappy enough,
but it isn't anything you can remedy any more. Whatever you could do
to make me unhappy you have done, and now you talk of my being happier
away from you. Clever boy, you! I know you the way I know my ten
fingers. You don't deceive me at any time in any way any more. I
can't do anything about it. I can't stop you from making a fool of
yourself with every woman you meet, and having people talk from one end
of the country to the other. Why, for a woman to be seen with you is
enough to fix her reputation forever. Right now all Broadway knows
you're running after Berenice Fleming. Her name will soon be as sweet
as those of the others you've had. She might as well give herself to
you. If she ever had a decent reputation it's gone by now, you can
depend upon that."

These remarks irritated Cowperwood greatly--enraged him--particularly
her references to Berenice. What were you to do with such a woman? he
thought. Her tongue was becoming unbearable; her speech in its
persistence and force was that of a termagant. Surely, surely, he had
made a great mistake in marrying her. At the same time the control of
her was largely in his own hands even yet.

"Aileen," he said, coolly, at the end of her speech, "you talk too
much. You rave. You're growing vulgar, I believe. Now let me tell
you something." And he fixed her with a hard, quieting eye. "I have no
apologies to make. Think what you please. I know why you say what you
do. But here is the point. I want you to get it straight and clear.
It may make some difference eventually if you're any kind of a woman at
all. I don't care for you any more. If you want to put it another
way--I'm tired of you. I have been for a long while. That's why I've
run with other women. If I hadn't been tired of you I wouldn't have
done it. What's more, I'm in love with somebody else--Berenice
Fleming, and I ex