of any more time.
First, there was Aileen, a jealous, emotional wife, who would certainly use any means at her disposal to destroy her if ever she felt that Cowperwood loved her. Next, the newspapers. They would certainly publicize her connection with him, if they were seen together in any conspicuous way. And then there was her mother, to whom she would have to explain this latest move of hers; and her brother Rolfe, for whom she now hoped to secure some means of livelihood through Cowperwood.
All these things meant that she would have to be consistently and firmly cautious, wily, diplomatic, courageous, and willing to make certain sacrifices and compromises.
At the same time, Cowperwood was thinking much along the same lines. Since Berenice was to be the principal force in his life from now on, he was extremely conscious of her welfare and her prospective movements in connection with himself. Also, the London idea was growing in his mind. Accordingly, on the following day when they met, he began at once discussing seriously all phases of their problems.
“You know, Bevy,” he said. “I have been thinking of your London idea, and it appeals to me very much; it has interesting possibilities.” And from there on he recounted just what he had in mind, and gave her a history of the two men who had called on him.
“The thing for me to do now,” he continued, after his explanation, “is to send someone to London to see whether that offer they made us still holds good. If it does, it may open the door to what you are thinking of.” He smiled affectionately on Berenice as the author of all this. “On the other hand, the thing that stands in our way, as I see it now, is the matter of publicity and what Aileen is likely to do. She is very romantic and emotional; she functions through her emotions rather than through her mind. I have tried for years to make her understand how it is with me, how a man may change without really wanting to. But she cannot see that. She thinks people change deliberately.” He paused and smiled. “She’s the kind of woman who is naturally and entirely faithful in her heart, a one-man woman.”
“And you resent that?” inquired Berenice.
“On the contrary, I think it beautiful. The only trouble is that up to now I haven’t been that way.”
“And will not be, I’m thinking,” Berenice twitted him.
“Silence!” he pleaded. “No arguments! Let me finish, dear. She cannot see why, because I loved her so much at one time, I should not continue to do so. In fact, her sorrow has now turned into something like hatred, I’m afraid, or she tries to make herself think that it has. The worst part of it is that it’s all tied up with her pride in being my wife. She wanted to shine socially, and I wished her to at first because I had the notion that it would be best for both of us. But I soon learned that Aileen was not clever enough. I gave up the idea of trying in Chicago. New York, I thought, was much more important, the real city for a man of wealth. And so I decided to try there. I was beginning to think I might not always want to live with Aileen, but, if you will believe it, that was after I saw your picture in Louisville—the one I have in my pocket. It was only after that that I decided to build the house in New York, and make it into an art gallery as well as a residence. And then, eventually, if you ever became interested in me . . .”
“And so the great house that I am never to occupy was built for me,” mused Berenice. “How strange!”
“Life is like that,” said Cowperwood. “But we can be happy.”
“I know that,” she said. “I was merely thinking of the strangeness of it. And I wouldn’t disturb Aileen for anything.”
“You are both liberal and wise, I know. You will perhaps manage things better than I could.”
“I believe I can manage,” returned Berenice calmly.
“But besides Aileen, there are the newspapers. They follow me everywhere. And once they hear of this London idea, assuming that I undertake it, there’ll be fireworks! And if ever your name becomes connected with mine, you’ll be pursued as a chicken is by hawks. One solution might be for me to adopt you, or maybe carry this idea of my being your guardian on into England. That would give me the right to be with you and to pretend to be looking after your property. What do you think?”
“Well, yes,” she said slowly. “I can’t see any other way. But that London matter will have to be thought out very carefully. And I am not thinking of myself alone.”
“I’m sure of it,” replied Cowperwood, “but with a little luck, we should get by. One of the things we must do is to avoid being seen together too much, I suppose. But first of all, we must think of a way to distract the attention of Aileen. For, of course, she knows all about you. Because of my contact with you and your mother in New York, she has suspected for a long time that there was an intrigue between us. I was never in a position to tell you that; you didn’t seem to like me well enough.”
“Didn’t really know you well enough,” corrected Berenice. “You were too much of an enigma.”
“And now . . .?”
“Just as much so as ever, I fear.”
“I doubt that. In regard to Aileen, though, I have no solution. She is so suspicious. As long as I am here in this country, and appear in New York occasionally, she doesn’t seem to mind. But if I left, and appeared to be settling in London, and the newspapers discussed it . . .” he paused, meditating.
“You’re afraid she will talk, or follow you and make a scene—something of that sort?”
“It’s hard to say what she might or might not do. With a little diversion of some sort, she might not do anything. On the other hand, and particularly since she’s taken to drinking in the last few years, she might do anything. Several years ago, in one of her brooding fits, and when she was drinking, she tried to kill herself.” (Berenice frowned.) “I prevented that by breaking in and talking rather forcibly to her.” He described the scene, but did not picture himself as uncompromising as he had been.
Berenice listened, convinced at last of Aileen’s undying love, and feeling that now she was adding one more thorn to her inescapable crown. Only, as she reasoned, nothing that she could do would change Cowperwood. As for herself, and her desire for some sort of revenge on society . . . well, she cared for him, too. She really did. He was like a strong drug. His mental as well as his physical charm was enormous, really irresistible. The important thing was to achieve this constructive relationship without doing any additional harm to Aileen.
She paused, thinking, and then said: “It is a real problem, isn’t it? But we have a little time to consider it. Let it go for a day or two. She is certainly on my mind, all of the time . . .” She looked at Cowperwood, wide-eyed, thoughtfully and affectionately, a faint and yet cheering smile playing about her mouth. “Together we’ll manage, I know.”
She rose from her chair by the fire, walked over to sit on his lap, began to rumple his hair.
“All problems are not financial, are they?” she said, quizzically, touching his forehead with her lips.
“They certainly are not,” he replied lightly, cheered by her affectionate sympathy and encouragement.
And then, for diversion, he suggested that since there had been a heavy snowfall the previous day, a sleigh ride would be a delightful way to end the day. He knew of a charming inn on the North Shore, where they might have dinner beside the lake under a winter moon.
Returning late that night, Berenice sat alone in her room before the fire, thinking and planning. She had already telegraphed her mother to come
