The Financier [68]
could not have startled her more. It was apparently tactless, and yet it was anything but tactless. She looked up quickly, directly, but his strong eyes were too much for her.
"Why, yes," she answered, as the music stopped, trying to keep an even tone to her voice. She was glad they were walking toward a chair.
"I like you so much," he said, "that I have been wondering if you really like me." There was an appeal in his voice, soft and gentle. His manner was almost sad.
"Why, yes," she replied, instantly, returning to her earlier mood toward him. "You know I do."
"I need some one like you to like me," he continued, in the same vein. "I need some one like you to talk to. I didn't think so before--but now I do. You are beautiful--wonderful."
"We mustn't," she said. "I mustn't. I don't know what I'm doing." She looked at a young man strolling toward her, and asked: "I have to explain to him. He's the one I had this dance with."
Cowperwood understood. He walked away. He was quite warm and tense now--almost nervous. It was quite clear to him that he had done or was contemplating perhaps a very treacherous thing. Under the current code of society he had no right to do it. It was against the rules, as they were understood by everybody. Her father, for instance--his father--every one in this particular walk of life. However, much breaking of the rules under the surface of things there might be, the rules were still there. As he had heard one young man remark once at school, when some story had been told of a boy leading a girl astray and to a disastrous end, "That isn't the way at all."
Still, now that he had said this, strong thoughts of her were in his mind. And despite his involved social and financial position, which he now recalled, it was interesting to him to see how deliberately and even calculatingly--and worse, enthusiastically-- he was pumping the bellows that tended only to heighten the flames of his desire for this girl; to feed a fire that might ultimately consume him--and how deliberately and resourcefully!
Aileen toyed aimlessly with her fan as a black-haired, thin-faced young law student talked to her, and seeing Norah in the distance she asked to be allowed to run over to her.
"Oh, Aileen," called Norah, "I've been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been?"
"Dancing, of course. Where do you suppose I've been? Didn't you see me on the floor?"
"No, I didn't," complained Norah, as though it were most essential that she should. "How late are you going to stay?"
"Until it's over, I suppose. I don't know."
"Owen says he's going at twelve."
"Well, that doesn't matter. Some one will take me home. Are you having a good time?"
"Fine. Oh, let me tell you. I stepped on a lady's dress over there, last dance. She was terribly angry. She gave me such a look."
"Well, never mind, honey. She won't hurt you. Where are you going now?"
Aileen always maintained a most guardian-like attitude toward her sister.
"I want to find Callum. He has to dance with me next time. I know what he's trying to do. He's trying to get away from me. But he won't."
Aileen smiled. Norah looked very sweet. And she was so bright. What would she think of her if she knew? She turned back, and her fourth partner sought her. She began talking gayly, for she felt that she had to make a show of composure; but all the while there was ringing in her ears that definite question of his, "You like me, don't you?" and her later uncertain but not less truthful answer, "Yes, of course I do."
Chapter XIX
The growth of a passion is a very peculiar thing. In highly organized intellectual and artistic types it is so often apt to begin with keen appreciation of certain qualities, modified by many, many mental reservations. The egoist, the intellectual, gives but little of himself and asks much. Nevertheless, the lover of life, male or female, finding himself or herself in sympathetic accord with such a nature, is apt to gain much.
Cowperwood was innately
"Why, yes," she answered, as the music stopped, trying to keep an even tone to her voice. She was glad they were walking toward a chair.
"I like you so much," he said, "that I have been wondering if you really like me." There was an appeal in his voice, soft and gentle. His manner was almost sad.
"Why, yes," she replied, instantly, returning to her earlier mood toward him. "You know I do."
"I need some one like you to like me," he continued, in the same vein. "I need some one like you to talk to. I didn't think so before--but now I do. You are beautiful--wonderful."
"We mustn't," she said. "I mustn't. I don't know what I'm doing." She looked at a young man strolling toward her, and asked: "I have to explain to him. He's the one I had this dance with."
Cowperwood understood. He walked away. He was quite warm and tense now--almost nervous. It was quite clear to him that he had done or was contemplating perhaps a very treacherous thing. Under the current code of society he had no right to do it. It was against the rules, as they were understood by everybody. Her father, for instance--his father--every one in this particular walk of life. However, much breaking of the rules under the surface of things there might be, the rules were still there. As he had heard one young man remark once at school, when some story had been told of a boy leading a girl astray and to a disastrous end, "That isn't the way at all."
Still, now that he had said this, strong thoughts of her were in his mind. And despite his involved social and financial position, which he now recalled, it was interesting to him to see how deliberately and even calculatingly--and worse, enthusiastically-- he was pumping the bellows that tended only to heighten the flames of his desire for this girl; to feed a fire that might ultimately consume him--and how deliberately and resourcefully!
Aileen toyed aimlessly with her fan as a black-haired, thin-faced young law student talked to her, and seeing Norah in the distance she asked to be allowed to run over to her.
"Oh, Aileen," called Norah, "I've been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been?"
"Dancing, of course. Where do you suppose I've been? Didn't you see me on the floor?"
"No, I didn't," complained Norah, as though it were most essential that she should. "How late are you going to stay?"
"Until it's over, I suppose. I don't know."
"Owen says he's going at twelve."
"Well, that doesn't matter. Some one will take me home. Are you having a good time?"
"Fine. Oh, let me tell you. I stepped on a lady's dress over there, last dance. She was terribly angry. She gave me such a look."
"Well, never mind, honey. She won't hurt you. Where are you going now?"
Aileen always maintained a most guardian-like attitude toward her sister.
"I want to find Callum. He has to dance with me next time. I know what he's trying to do. He's trying to get away from me. But he won't."
Aileen smiled. Norah looked very sweet. And she was so bright. What would she think of her if she knew? She turned back, and her fourth partner sought her. She began talking gayly, for she felt that she had to make a show of composure; but all the while there was ringing in her ears that definite question of his, "You like me, don't you?" and her later uncertain but not less truthful answer, "Yes, of course I do."
Chapter XIX
The growth of a passion is a very peculiar thing. In highly organized intellectual and artistic types it is so often apt to begin with keen appreciation of certain qualities, modified by many, many mental reservations. The egoist, the intellectual, gives but little of himself and asks much. Nevertheless, the lover of life, male or female, finding himself or herself in sympathetic accord with such a nature, is apt to gain much.
Cowperwood was innately