Wayne. Only a year ago he had entered on the affair with her. Arlette, previously immured in a small town in Iowa and anxious to extricate herself from a fate which threatened to smother her talent, had written Cowperwood, enclosing a picture of her siren self. But not receiving a reply, she had proceeded to borrow money and appear before him in person in his Chicago office. Where the picture had failed, the personality of Arlette had succeeded, for she was not only daring and self-confident, but possessed of a temperament with which Cowperwood was really in sympathy. Besides, her object was not purely mercenary. She was genuinely interested in music, and she had a voice. Of that he became convinced, and he desired to help her. She had also brought with her convincing evidence of her background: a picture of the little house in which she and her widowed mother, a local saleswoman, were living, and a quite moving story of her mother’s struggles to maintain them and further her ambition.
Naturally, the few hundred dollars which her aspirations required were as nothing to Cowperwood. Ambition in any form appealed to him, and now, moved by the girl herself, he proceeded to plan her future. For the time being, she was to have the best training Chicago could offer. Later, should she really prove worth while, he would send her abroad. However, so as not to commit or entangle himself in any way, he had specifically arranged a budget on which she was to live, and that budget was still in force. He had also advised her to bring her mother to Chicago to live with her. She therefore rented a small house, sent for her mother, and established herself, and in due course Cowperwood became a frequent visitor.
Yet because of her intellect and the sincerity of her ambition, their relationship had been based on mutual appreciation as well as affection. She had not been moved by any desire to compromise him in any way, and it had been only shortly before Berenice’s arrival in Chicago that he had persuaded Arlette to go to Dresden, for he had realized that he might not be a personal part of Chicago much longer. And had it not been for Berenice, he would have presently visited Arlette in Germany.
But now, as he compared her to Berenice, he felt no sensual pull in her direction, for in that way, as in all others, Berenice promised to absorb him completely. However, still interested in Arlette as an artistic temperament, and concerned to see her succeed, he intended continuing to aid her. Only, as he now felt, it might be best to drop her from his life completely. It would mean little to him. She had had her day. Best start on a new footing entirely. If Berenice was going to demand absolute romantic faithfulness on pain of separation, then he would do the best he could to conform to her desires. She was surely worthy of really important sacrifices on his part. And in that frame of mind, he was more inclined to dream and promise than at any time since his youth.
Chapter 3
The following morning, a little after ten o’clock, Berenice telephoned Cowperwood and they agreed to meet at his club for a talk.
As she entered by a private stairway to his apartment, she found him waiting to greet her. There were flowers in the living room and bedroom. But still so dubious was he as to the reality of this conquest that, as she came leisurely up the steps, looking at him and smiling, he scanned her face anxiously for any suggestion of change. But as she crossed the threshold and allowed him to seize her and hold her close, he felt reassured.
“So you came!” he said, gaily and warmly, at the same time pausing to survey her.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” she asked, laughing at the expression on his face.
“Well, how was I to be sure?” he queried. “You never did anything I wanted you to do before.”
“True, but you know why. This is different.” She yielded her lips to his.
“If you only knew the effect your coming has had on me,” he went on, excitedly. “I haven’t slept a wink all night. And I feel as though I’d never need to sleep again . . . Pearly teeth . . . Slate blue eyes . . . rosy mouth . . .” he went on admiringly. And he kissed her eyes. “And this sunray hair.” He fingered it admiringly.
“The baby has a new toy!”
He was thrilled by her comprehending, yet sympathetic, smile, and bent and picked her up.
“Frank! Please! My hair . . . you’ll get me all mussed up!”
She protested laughingly as he carried her to the adjoining bedroom, which seemed to flicker with flame from the fireplace, and, and, because he insisted, she allowed him to undress her, amused at his impatience.
It was late in the afternoon before he was satisfied to “be sane and talk,” as she put it. They sat by a tea table before the fire. She insisted that she was anxious to remain in Chicago, so as to be with him as much and as long as possible, but they must arrange things so as not to attract attention. As to this, he agreed. His notoriety was then at its terrific peak, and, in consequence, particularly because Aileen was known to be living in New York, his appearance with anyone as attractive as herself would be the signal for a flood of comment. They would have to avoid being seen together.
For now, he added, this matter of franchise extension, or, rather, as it stood now, no franchise, did not mean a cessation of work any more than it meant that he was to lose his street railway properties. These had been built up over a period of years, and shares in them sold to thousands of investors, and they could not be taken from him or his investors without due process of law.
“What really has to be done, Bevy,” he said to her intimately, “is to find a financier, or a group of them, or a corporation, to take over these properties at a value that is fair to all. And that, of course, can’t be brought about in a minute. It may take years. As a matter of fact, I know that unless I step forward and personally request it as a favor to me, nobody is likely to come in here and offer to do anything. They know how difficult it is to manage street railways profitably. And then there are the courts, which will have to pass on all this, even if these enemies of mine, or any outside concerns, are willing to try and run these roads.”
He was sitting beside her, talking to her as though she were one of his fellow-investors or financial equals. And while she was not greatly interested in the practical details of his world of finance, she could sense how intense was his intellectual and practical interest in these things.
“Well, I know one thing,” she interpolated at this point, “and that is, you will never really be beaten. You are too wise and too clever.”
“Maybe,” he said, pleased by her tribute. “Anyhow, all that takes time. It may be years before these roads are taken off my hands. At the same time, a long delay of that kind might cripple me, in a way. Supposing I should want to do anything else; I should feel handicapped because of the responsibility here.” And for a moment, his large gray eyes stared into space.
“What I would prefer to do,” he mused, “now that I have you, would be to loaf and travel with you, for a time, anyhow. I’ve worked hard enough. You mean more than money to me, infinitely more. It’s odd, but I feel all at once as though I’ve worked too hard all my life.” He smiled and fondled her.
And Berenice, hearing him say these things, was suffused with pride and power, as well as real tenderness.
“That’s perfectly true, dear. You’ve been like some big engine or machine that’s tearing full speed somewhere, but doesn’t know exactly where.” She toyed with his hair and smoothed his cheek as she talked. “I’ve been thinking of your life, and all you’ve accomplished up to now. I think you should go abroad for a while, and look at things in Europe. I don’t see what else you could do here, unless you want to make more money, and Chicago certainly isn’t a very interesting place. I think it’s terrible.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” returned Cowperwood, defensive for Chicago.
