heap politics, I call that," he commented. And then he told of
stopping in a so-called Republican wigwam at State and Sixteenth
streets--a great, cheaply erected, unpainted wooden shack with seats,
and of hearing himself bitterly denounced by the reigning orator. "I
was tempted once to ask that donkey a few questions," he added, "but I
decided I wouldn't."

Aileen had to smile. In spite of all his faults he was such a
wonderful man--to set a city thus by the ears. "Yet, what care I how
fair he be, if he be not fair to me."

"Did you meet any one else besides Lynde you liked?" he finally asked,
archly, seeking to gather further data without stirring up too much
feeling.

Aileen, who had been studying him, feeling sure the subject would come
up again, replied: "No, I haven't; but I don't need to. One is enough."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, gently.

"Oh, just what I say. One will do."

"You mean you are in love with Lynde?"

"I mean--oh!" She stopped and surveyed him defiantly. "What difference
does it make to you what I mean? Yes, I am. But what do you care? Why
do you sit there and question me? It doesn't make any difference to you
what I do. You don't want me. Why should you sit there and try to
find out, or watch? It hasn't been any consideration for you that has
restrained me so far. Suppose I am in love? What difference would it
make to you?"

"Oh, I care. You know I care. Why do you say that?"

"Yes, you care," she flared. "I know how you care. Well, I'll just
tell you one thing"--rage at his indifference was driving her on--"I am
in love with Lynde, and what's more, I'm his mistress. And I'll
continue to be. But what do you care? Pshaw!"

Her eyes blazed hotly, her color rose high and strong. She breathed
heavily.

At this announcement, made in the heat of spite and rage generated by
long indifference, Cowperwood sat up for a moment, and his eyes
hardened with quite that implacable glare with which he sometimes
confronted an enemy. He felt at once there were many things he could
do to make her life miserable, and to take revenge on Lynde, but he
decided after a moment he would not. It was not weakness, but a sense
of superior power that was moving him. Why should he be jealous? Had
he not been unkind enough? In a moment his mood changed to one of
sorrow for Aileen, for himself, for life, indeed--its tangles of desire
and necessity. He could not blame Aileen. Lynde was