Theodore Dreiser - The Stoic

“Aileen!” he exclaimed, on seeing her, “I’ve never seen you looking better! What in the world have you been doing? That dress is most effective. And I like your hair. What have you been living on, birdseed?”

“Well, just about that,” returned Aileen, smiling. “I haven’t had a single meal that I would call a meal in thirty days. But you may be sure of one thing! Now that I’ve gotten it off, it’s going to stay off! But did you have an easy trip over?” As she talked she was supervising the services of Williams, who was arranging glasses and liqueurs on a table in preparation for guests.

“The Channel was smooth as a pond,” he said, “except for about fifteen minutes, when it looked as though everybody would go under. But we were all fine when we landed.

“Oh, that dreadful Channel!” said Aileen, conscious all the while of his eyes upon her, and, in spite of herself, nervously excited by his complimentary remarks.

“But what about this banquet tonight?”

“Well, Mr. Tollifer and I have arranged a little party. You know, that man Tollifer is a perfect jewel. I like him ever so much. And I think you’ll be interested in some of the people who are coming, especially my friend, Madame Rezstadt. She and I have been going around together a great deal. She is charming, and different from any woman I have ever known.”

Now that she had lived for a month in the company of Tollifer and his colourful group, she felt at ease in pointing out to Cowperwood a woman of Madame Rezstadt’s charm, where previously she would have jealously intrigued to prevent his noticing any woman as attractive as her new friend. He noted her new air of confidence, her assurance, good nature, and revived interest in life. If things were going to go as well as this, decidedly there might be no further cause for bitterness between them. At the same time ran the thought that this development was his doing, not hers. And she so unconscious of it. But no sooner had that thought been indulged in than he realized that it was really because of Berenice that this had happened. For he could feel that Aileen was inspired, not so much by his presence as by that of the man whom he had employed.

But where was he? Cowperwood felt he had no right to inquire. He was in the position of a man who contrives a show, a masquerade, but is not permitted to announce himself as showman. But there was Aileen saying: “Frank, you’ll want to dress. And I have some things to do before the others arrive.”

“That’s right,” he said. “But I have a piece of news for you. Do you think you could leave Paris just now and run back to New York with me?”

“What do you mean?” Her voice was full of surprise. For she had been hoping that they might visit at least a few of the principal resorts of Europe this summer, and now here he was talking of returning to New York. Perhaps he was giving up his London plans entirely in order to return to America for good. She was a little disturbed, for somehow this seemed to shadow and even threaten all that she had so recently achieved.

“Oh, nothing at all serious,” said Cowperwood, smiling. “Nothing has gone wrong in London. I haven’t been thrown out. In fact, it looks as though they might like me to stay. But only on condition that I go back home and return with a lot of money.” He smiled ironically, and Aileen, relieved, smiled with him. Knowing so much of his past experiences, she could not help sharing his cynicism.

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “But let’s talk about it tomorrow. Suppose you dress now.”

“Right! I’ll be ready in a half-hour.”

Aileen covered him with her eyes as he passed into another room. As usual, he was certainly looking the picture of success. He was cheerful, adroit, aggressive. Plainly, he was interested by her present appearance and manner. She was sure of that, even though still conscious of the fact that he did not love her and that she feared him. What a blessing that the gay, handsome Tollifer had blown into her life! If she were to return to New York now, what was to become of this quite inexplicable and now quite soundly established friendship between herself and this handsome young loafer?

Before Cowperwood reappeared, Tollifer breezed in. Handing his top hat and stick to Williams, he marched briskly over to Aileen’s bedroom door and knocked.

“Hello!” she called out to him. “Mr. Cowperwood is here; he’s dressing. I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Righto! The others should be here any moment now.”

As he spoke, he heard a slight noise and turned just in time to note Cowperwood’s entrance into the reception room by another door. The two gave each other a swift glance of recognition. Tollifer conscious of his obligation, stepped quickly and cordially forward. But Cowperwood anticipated his address by saying: “Well, we meet again. How are you enjoying Paris?”

“Oh, very much,” said Tollifer. “This season is particularly gay. I’ve been running into all sorts of people. And the weather has been perfect. You know Paris in the spring. I find it the gayest and most refreshing time.”

“I hear we are to be the guests of my wife this evening.”

“Yes, along with some others. I’m afraid I’m a little early.”

“Suppose we have something to drink!”

They were off on a casual conversation regarding London and Paris, both doing their best to ignore the relationship between them, and both succeeding. Aileen entered and greeted Tollifer. And then Ibrihim arriving, and ignoring Cowperwood as he would a sheepherder of his own land, proceeded to pay his compliments to Aileen.

Cowperwood was at first a little astonished, then amused. The gleaming eyes of the Arab intrigued him. “Interesting,” he said to himself. “This fellow Tollifer is actually creating something here. And this robed Bedouin covets my wife. This should be a fine evening!”

Next entered Marigold Brainerd. Her personality pleased him, and the appreciation appeared to be mutual. But this rapprochement was soon interrupted by the arrival of the serene and exotic Rezstadt, swathed in a cream white shawl, the long silken fringe trailing over one arm and about her feet. Cowperwood looked with approval on her olive-tinted face, framed so attractively by sleek black hair and a pair of heavy jet earrings which hung almost to her shoulders.

Observing him, and impressed, as were most women, Madame Rezstadt readily comprehended Aileen’s plight. This was not a man for any one woman. One must sip only and be content with that. Aileen should be brought to comprehend that truth.

But Tollifer was impatiently urging that it was time to leave, and obeying his insistence they departed for Orsignat’s.

A private dining room that was half-balcony commanded, through open French windows, a full view of Notre Dame and the green square before it. But all, as they entered, commented on the seeming lack of preparation for their dinner party, for there was only a plain wooden table completely bare. Tollifer, entering last, exclaimed:

“Why, what the devil does this mean? I don’t understand. There’s something wrong here. They’re surely expecting us. Wait, I’ll go and see,” and turning swiftly, he disappeared.

“I really can’t understand this,” said Aileen. “I thought we had everything arranged.” And she frowned and pouted and looked her irritated best.

“We’ve probably been shown to the wrong room,” said Cowperwood.

“They do not expect, what?” the sheik was saying to Marigold, when the door of an adjoining serving room suddenly opened, and in dashed Harlequin, enormously concerned. This was Pantaloon himself, tall and gawky, his garb the usual star-and-moon sewn slip, cornucopia atop his head, his ears yellowed with grease paint, his eyesockets green, his cheeks cerise, ruffs and bangles about his wrists and neck, tufts of hair protruding from under his horn hat, immense white gloves on his hands, long, flail-like shoes on his feet. Looking about with a kind of lunatic anguish and despair, he exclaimed: