The worst of this situation was that it was now becoming complicated on Cowperwood’s part with the most disturbing thoughts concerning Berenice Fleming. Ever since the days when he had first met her mother he had been coming more and more to feel for the young girl a soul-stirring passion—and that without a single look exchanged or a single word spoken. There is a static something which is beauty, and this may be clothed in the habiliments of a ragged14 philosopher or in the silks and satins of pampered15 coquetry. It was a suggestion of this beauty which is above sex and above age and above wealth that shone in the blowing hair and night-blue eyes of Berenice Fleming. His visit to the Carter family at Pocono had been a disappointment to him, because of the apparent hopelessness of arousing Berenice’s interest, and since that time, and during their casual encounters, she had remained politely indifferent. Nevertheless, he remained true to his persistence16 in the pursuit of any game he had fixed17 upon.
Mrs. Carter, whose relations with Cowperwood had in the past been not wholly platonic18, nevertheless attributed much of his interest in her to her children and their vital chance. Berenice and Rolfe themselves knew nothing concerning the nature of their mother’s arrangements with Cowperwood. True to his promise of protectorship and assistance, he had established her in a New York apartment adjacent to her daughter’s school, and where he fancied that he himself might spend many happy hours were Berenice but near. Proximity19 to Berenice! The desire to arouse her interest and command her favor! Cowperwood would scarcely have cared to admit to himself how great a part this played in a thought which had recently been creeping into his mind. It was that of erecting20 a splendid house in New York.
By degrees this idea of building a New York house had grown upon him. His Chicago mansion21 was a costly22 sepulcher23 in which Aileen sat brooding over the woes which had befallen her. Moreover, aside from the social defeat which it represented, it was becoming merely as a structure, but poorly typical of the splendor24 and ability of his imaginations. This second dwelling25, if he ever achieved it, should be resplendent, a monument to himself. In his speculative26 wanderings abroad he had seen many such great palaces, designed with the utmost care, which had housed the taste and culture of generations of men. His art-collection, in which he took an immense pride, had been growing, until it was the basis if not the completed substance for a very splendid memorial. Already in it were gathered paintings of all the important schools; to say nothing of collections of jade27, illumined missals, porcelains28, rugs, draperies, mirror frames, and a beginning at rare originals of sculpture. The beauty of these strange things, the patient laborings of inspired souls of various times and places, moved him, on occasion, to a gentle awe29. Of all individuals he respected, indeed revered30, the sincere artist. Existence was a mystery, but these souls who set themselves to quiet tasks of beauty had caught something of which he was dimly conscious. Life had touched them with a vision, their hearts and souls were attuned31 to sweet harmonies of which the common world knew nothing. Sometimes, when he was weary after a strenuous32 day, he would enter—late in the night—his now silent gallery, and turning on the lights so that the whole sweet room stood revealed, he would seat himself before some treasure, reflecting on the nature, the mood, the time, and the man that had produced it. Sometimes it would be one of Rembrandt’s melancholy33 heads—the sad “Portrait of a Rabbi”—or the sweet introspection of a Rousseau stream. A solemn Dutch housewife, rendered with the bold fidelity34 and resonant35 enameled36 surfaces of a Hals or the cold elegance37 of an Ingres, commanded his utmost enthusiasm. So he would sit and wonder at the vision and skill of the original dreamer, exclaiming at times: “A marvel38! A marvel!”
At the same time, so far as Aileen was concerned things were obviously shaping up for additional changes. She was in that peculiar39 state which has befallen many a woman—trying to substitute a lesser40 ideal for a greater, and finding that the effort is useless or nearly so. In regard to her affair with Lynde, aside from the temporary relief and diversion it had afforded her, she was beginning to feel that she had made a serious mistake. Lynde was delightful41, after his fashion. He could amuse her with a different type of experience from any that Cowperwood had to relate. Once they were intimate he had, with an easy, genial42 air, confessed to all sorts of liaisons43 in Europe and America. He was utterly44 pagan—a faun—and at the same time he was truly of the smart world. His open contempt of all but one or two of the people in Chicago whom Aileen had secretly admired and wished to associate with, and his easy references to figures of importance in the East and in Paris and London, raised him amazingly in her estimation; it made her feel, sad to relate, that she had by no means lowered herself in succumbing46 so readily to his forceful charms.
Nevertheless, because he was what he was—genial, complimentary47, affectionate, but a playboy, merely, and a soldier of fortune, with no desire to make over her life for her on any new basis—she was now grieving over the futility48 of this romance which had got her nowhere, and which, in all probability, had alienated Cowperwood for good. He was still outwardly genial and friendly, but their relationship was now colored by a sense of mistake and uncertainty49 which existed on both sides, but which, in Aileen’s case, amounted to a subtle species of soul-torture. Hitherto she had been the aggrieved50 one, the one whose loyalty51 had never been in question, and whose persistent52 affection and faith had been greatly sinned against. Now all this was changed. The manner in which he had sinned against her was plain enough, but the way in which, out of pique53, she had forsaken54 him was in the other balance. Say what one will, the loyalty of woman, whether a condition in nature or an evolved accident of sociology, persists as a dominating thought in at least a section of the race; and women themselves, be it said, are the ones who most loudly and openly subscribe55 to it. Cowperwood himself was fully56 aware that Aileen had deserted57 him, not because she loved him less or Lynde more, but because she was hurt—and deeply so. Aileen knew that he knew this. From one point of view it enraged58 her and made her defiant59; from another it grieved her to think she had uselessly sinned against his faith in her. Now he had ample excuse to do anything he chose. Her best claim on him—her wounds—she had thrown away as one throws away a weapon. Her pride would not let her talk to him about this, and at the same time she could not endure the easy, tolerant manner with which he took it. His smiles, his forgiveness, his sometimes pleasant jesting were all a horrible offense60.
To complete her mental quandary61, she was already beginning to quarrel with Lynde over this matter of her unbreakable regard for Cowperwood. With the sufficiency of a man of the world Lynde intended that she should succumb45 to him completely and forget her wonderful husband. When with him she was apparently62 charmed and interested, yielding herself freely, but this was more out of pique at Cowperwood’s neglect than from any genuine passion for Lynde. In spite of her pretensions63 of anger, her sneers64, and criticisms whenever Cowperwood’s name came up, she was, nevertheless, hopelessly fond of him and identified with him spiritually, and it was not long before Lynde began to suspect this. Such a discovery is a sad one for any master of women to make. It jolted65 his pride severely66.
“You care for him still, don’t you?” he asked, with a wry67 smile, upon one occasion. They were sitting at dinner in a private room at Kinsley’s, and Aileen, whose color was high, and who was becomingly garbed68 in metallic-green silk, was looking especially handsome. Lynde had been proposing that she should make special arrangements to depart with him for a three-months’ stay in Europe, but she would have nothing to do with the project. She did not dare. Such a move would make Cowperwood feel that she was alienating69 herself forever; it would give him an excellent excuse to leave her.
“Oh, it isn’t that,” she had declared, in reply to Lynde’s query70. “I just don’t want to go. I can’t. I’m not prepared. It’s nothing but a notion of yours, anyhow. You’re tired of Chicago because it’s getting near spring. You go and I’ll be here when you come back, or I may decide to come over later.” She smiled.
Lynde pulled a dark face.
“Hell!” he said. “I know how it is with you. You still stick to him, even when he treats you like a dog. You pretend not to love him when as a matter of fact you’re mad about him. I’ve seen it all along. You don’t really care anything about me. You can’t. You’re too crazy about him.”
“Oh, shut up!” replied Aileen, irritated greatly for the moment by this onslaught. “You talk like a fool. I’m not anything of the sort. I admire him. How could any one help it?” (At this time, of course, Cowperwood’s name was filling the city.) “He’s a very wonderful man. He was never brutal71 to me. He’s a full-sized man—I’ll say that for him.”
By now Aileen had become sufficiently72 familiar with Lynde to criticize him in her own mind, and even outwardly by innuendo73, for being a loafer and idler who had never created in any way the money he was so freely spending. She had little power to psychologize concerning social conditions, but the stalwart constructive74 persistence of Cowperwood along commercial lines coupled with the current American contempt of leisure reflected somewhat unfavorably upon Lynde, she thought.
Lynde’s face clouded still more at this outburst. “You go to the devil,” he retorted. “I don’t get you at all. Sometimes you talk as though you were fond of me. At other times you’re all wrapped up in him. Now you either care for me or you don’t. Which is it? If you’re so crazy about him that you can’t leave home for a month or so you certainly can’t care much about me.”
Aileen, however, because of her long experience with Cowperwood, was more than a match for Lynde. At the same time she was afraid to let go of him for fear that she should have no one to care for her. She liked him. He was a happy resource in her misery75, at least for the moment. Yet the knowledge that Cowperwood looked upon this affair as a heavy blemish76 on her pristine77 solidarity78 cooled her. At the thought of him and of her whole tarnished79 and troubled career she was very unhappy.
“Hell!” Lynde had repeated, irritably80, “stay if you want to. I’ll not be trying to over-persuade you—depend on that.”
They quarreled still further over this matter, and, though they eventually made up, both sensed the drift toward an ultimately unsatisfactory conclusion.
It was one morning not long after this that Cowperwood, feeling in a genial mood over his affairs, came into Aileen’s room, as he still did on occasions, to finish dressing81 and pass the time of day.
“Well,” he observed, gaily82, as he stood before the mirror adjusting his collar and tie, “how are you and Lynde getting along these days—nicely?”
“Oh, you go to the devil!” replied Aileen, flaring83 up and struggling with her divided feelings, which pained her constantly. “If it hadn’t been for you there wouldn’t be any chance for your smarty ‘how-am-I-getting-alongs.’ I am getting along all right—fine—regardless of anything you may think. He’s as good a man as you are any day, and better. I like him. At least he’s fond of me, and that’s more than you are. Why should you care what I do? You don’t, so why talk about it? I want you to let me alone.”
“Aileen, Aileen, how you carry on! Don’t flare84 up so. I meant nothing by it. I’m sorry as much for myself as for you. I’ve told you I’m not jealous. You think I’m critical. I’m not anything of the kind. I know how you feel. That’s all very good.”
“Oh yes, yes,” she replied. “Well, you can keep your feelings to yourself. Go to the devil! Go to the devil, I tell you!” Her eyes blazed.
He stood now, fully dressed, in the center of the rug before her, and Aileen looked at him, keen, valiant85, handsome—her old Frank. Once again she regretted her nominal86 faithlessness, and raged at him in her heart for his indifference87. “You dog,” she was about to add, “you have no heart!” but she changed her mind. Her throat tightened88 and her eyes filled. She wanted to run to him and say: “Oh, Frank, don’t you understand how it all is, how it all came about? Won’t you love me again—can’t you?” But she restrained herself. It seemed to her that he might understand—that he would, in fact—but that he would never again be faithful, anyhow. And she would so gladly have discarded Lynde and any and all men if he would only have said the word, would only have really and sincerely wished her to do so.
It was one day not long after their morning quarrel in her bedroom that Cowperwood broached89 the matter of living in New York to Aileen, pointing out that thereby90 his art-collection, which was growing constantly, might be more suitably housed, and that it would give her a second opportunity to enter social life.
“So that you can get rid of me out here,” commented Aileen, little knowing of Berenice Fleming.
“Not at all,” replied Cowperwood, sweetly. “You see how things are. There’s no chance of our getting into Chicago society. There’s too much financial opposition91 against me here. If we had a big house in New York, such as I would build, it would be an introduction in itself. After all, these Chicagoans aren’t even a snapper on the real society whip. It’s the Easterners who set the pace, and the New-Yorkers most of all. If you want to say the word, I can sell this place and we can live down there, part of the time, anyhow. I could spend as much of my time with you there as I have been doing here—perhaps more.”
Because of her soul of vanity Aileen’s mind ran forward in spite of herself to the wider opportunities which his words suggested. This house had become a nightmare to her—a place of neglect and bad memories. Here she had fought with Rita Sohlberg; here she had seen society come for a very little while only to disappear; here she had waited this long time for the renewal92 of Cowperwood’s love, which was now obviously never to be restored in its original glamour93. As he spoke13 she looked at him quizzically, almost sadly in her great doubt. At the same time she could not help reflecting that in New York where money counted for so much, and with Cowperwood’s great and growing wealth and prestige behind her, she might hope to find herself socially at last. “Nothing venture, nothing have” had always been her motto, nailed to her mast, though her equipment for the life she now craved94 had never been more than the veriest make-believe—painted wood and tinsel. Vain, radiant, hopeful Aileen! Yet how was she to know?
“Very well,” she observed, finally. “Do as you like. I can live down there as well as I can here, I presume—alone.”
Cowperwood knew the nature of her longings95. He knew what was running in her mind, and how futile96 were her dreams. Life had taught him how fortuitous must be the circumstances which could enable a woman of Aileen’s handicaps and defects to enter that cold upper world. Yet for all the courage of him, for the very life of him, he could not tell her. He could not forget that once, behind the grim bars in the penitentiary97 for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, he had cried on her shoulder. He could not be an ingrate98 and wound her with his inmost thoughts any more than he could deceive himself. A New York mansion and the dreams of social supremacy99 which she might there entertain would soothe100 her ruffled101 vanity and assuage102 her disappointed heart; and at the same time he would be nearer Berenice Fleming. Say what one will of these ferret windings103 of the human mind, they are, nevertheless, true and characteristic of the average human being, and Cowperwood was no exception. He saw it all, he calculated on it—he calculated on the simple humanity of Aileen.
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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alienated
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| adj.感到孤独的，不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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tractable
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| adj.易驾驭的；温顺的 | |
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acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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erecting
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| v.使直立，竖起( erect的现在分词 )；建立 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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sepulcher
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| n.坟墓 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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porcelains
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| n.瓷，瓷器( porcelain的名词复数 ) | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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enameled
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| 涂瓷釉于，给…上瓷漆，给…上彩饰( enamel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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liaisons
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| n.联络( liaison的名词复数 )；联络人；（尤指一方或双方已婚的）私通；组织单位间的交流与合作 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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succumbing
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的现在分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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futility
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| n.无用 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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quandary
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| n.困惑，进迟两难之境 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alienating
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| v.使疏远( alienate的现在分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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innuendo
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| n.暗指，讽刺 | |
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constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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blemish
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| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
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pristine
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| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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solidarity
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| n.团结；休戚相关 | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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penitentiary
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| n.感化院；监狱 | |
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ingrate
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| n.忘恩负义的人 | |
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supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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100
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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103
windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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