ng her dog and cat. Then I went down to one of
Lane Cross's receptions, and over to Merrill's"--she was referring to
the great store--"and home. I saw Taylor Lord and Polk Lynde together
in Wabash Avenue."

"Polk Lynde?" commented Cowperwood. "Is he interesting?"

"Yes, he is," replied Aileen. "I never met a man with such perfect
manners. He's so fascinating. He's just like a boy, and yet, Heaven
knows, he seems to have had enough worldly experience."

"So I've heard," commented Cowperwood. "Wasn't he the one that was
mixed up in that Carmen Torriba case here a few years ago?" Cowperwood
was referring to the matter of a Spanish dancer traveling in America
with whom Lynde had been apparently desperately in love.

"Oh yes," replied Aileen, maliciously; "but that oughtn't to make any
difference to you. He's charming, anyhow. I like him."

"I didn't say it did, did I? You don't object to my mentioning a mere
incident?"

"Oh, I know about the incident," replied Aileen, jestingly. "I know
you."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, studying her face.

"Oh, I know you," she replied, sweetly and yet defensively. "You think
I'll stay here and be content while you run about with other
women--play the sweet and loving wife? Well, I won't. I know why you
say this about Lynde. It's to keep me from being interested in him,
possibly. Well, I will be if I want to. I told you I would be, and I
will. You can do what you please about that. You don't want me, so
why should you be disturbed as to whether other men are interested in
me or not?"

The truth was that Cowperwood was not clearly thinking of any probable
relation between Lynde and Aileen any more than he was in connection
with her and any other man, and yet in a remote way he was sensing some
one. It was this that Aileen felt in him, and that brought forth her
seemingly uncalled-for comment. Cowperwood, under the circumstances,
attempted to be as suave as possible, having caught the implication
clearly.

"Aileen," he cooed, "how you talk! Why do you say that? You know I care
for you. I can't prevent anything you want to do, and I'm sure you
know I don't want to. It's you that I want to see satisfied. You know
that I care."

"Yes, I know how you care," replied Aileen, her mood changing for the
moment. "Don't start that old stuff, please. I'm sick of it. I know
how you're running around. I know about Mrs. Hand. Even the
newspapers make that pl