Theodore Dreiser - The Stoic

“I don’t know whether you feel it or not,” he went on, calculatingly, “but there’s a lot more than just a social acquaintance between you and me. I’ll admit that when I first met you, I didn’t think there would be. I was interested by the fact that you were Mrs. Cowperwood, part of a life that I had heard a great deal about. But after we’d had a few talks together, I began to feel something else. I’ve seen a lot of trouble in my life. I’ve had my ups and downs, and I suppose I always will. But there was something about you those first few days on the boat that made me think maybe you had, too. That’s why I wanted to be with you, although, as you saw for yourself, there were lots of other women whose company I might have had.”

He lied with the air of one who had never told anything but the truth. And this bit of acting impressed her. She had suspected him of fortune-hunting, and possibly that was true. Yet if he did not really like her, why all this effort on his part to improve her appearance and reorganize her onetime power to charm? She experienced a sudden emotional glow, perhaps half motherhood and half youth and desire. For one could not help liking this waster; he was so genial, cheering, and in a subtle way, affectionate.

“But what difference does it make about my going back to New York?” she asked wonderingly. “Can’t we be friends just the same?”

Tollifer considered. Having established this matter of his affection, now what? Always the thought of Cowperwood dominated him. What would he desire him to do?

“Just think,” he said, “you’re running off in the ideal time over here, June and July. And just when we were getting into the swing of things!” He lit a cigarette and fixed himself a drink. Why hadn’t Cowperwood given him a sign as to whether he wanted him to keep Aileen in Paris or not? Perhaps he would yet, but if so, he’d better be quick about it.

“Frank has asked me to go, and I can’t do anything else,” she said, calmly. “As for you, I don’t imagine you’ll be lonely.”

“You don’t understand,” he said. “You’ve made a kind of center for me over here. I feel happier now and more contented than I have for years. And if you go back now, it may be broken up.”

“Nonsense! Please don’t be foolish. I’d like to stay here, I admit. Only I don’t know how it could be managed. When I get back to New York and see how things are, I’ll let you know. But it’s my belief we’ll be coming back soon. If not, and you still feel this way, you can come home, and I’ll be seeing you just the same way in New York.”

“Aileen!” exclaimed Tollifer, affectionately, seeing his opportunity. He crossed over and took her arm. “That’s wonderful! That’s what I’ve been wanting you to say. Is that how you feel?” he asked, looking coaxingly into her eyes, and, before she could prevent it, slipping his arms around her waist and kissing her, not passionately but with seemingly genuine affection. But Aileen, conscious of her dominant desire to retain him and yet give Cowperwood no real cause for complaint, definitely though good-naturedly resisted.

“No, no, no,” she said, “remember what you were just saying. This is to be a real friendship, if you want it that way. But nothing more than that. Besides, why don’t we go out somewhere. I haven’t been out today, and I have a new gown I want to wear.”

Satisfied to let the situation rest for the time being, he suggested a new place out near Fontainbleau, and they were off.

New York, and Cowperwood and Aileen stepping off the liner Saxonia . The usual interviewers. The newspapers, aware of his expressed intention of invading the London underground field, now wanting to know, who were to be his directors, investors, managers, also whether the sudden reported heavy buying of both the common and preferred stock of the District and the Metropolitan was not really being done by his own men. This disclaimed by him in an adroit statement, which, when published, caused many Londoners, as well as Americans, to smile.

Pictures of Aileen, her new clothes, and references to her appearance in what was hinted to be near-society on the Continent.

And, simultaneously, sailing with Marigold for the North Cape, Bruce Tollifer. But no mention of this in any paper.

And at Pryor’s Cove, Berenice was an outstanding local success. Since she so carefully concealed her shrewdness behind a veil of simplicity, innocence, and conventionality, everyone convinced that there would follow in due time, for her, a distinguished and correct marriage. For, obviously, she had the instinct for avoiding the dull, the commonplace, and the lecherous, regarding favorably only those who were conventionally minded, men as well as women. Even a more promising trait, as her new friends saw it, was her penchant for that type of unattractive woman—neglected wife, spinster, maiden aunt—who, socially wellborn, was still hard put to it for pleasurable attention of any kind. For, having no need to fear the younger and more attractive hostesses and matrons, she knew that if she won the more lonely women to her, she would be able to make her way into the most important functions.

Just as fortunate was her tendency to admire the wholly innocuous and socially correct stripling or young master of title and social honor. In fact, the young curates and rectors for miles about Pryor’s Cove were already jubilant because of the spiritual discernment of this young newcomer. Her demure appearance of a Sabbath morn in any of the neighborhood chapels of the English High Church, invariably in company with her mother or one of the more conservative of the elder women, was sufficient to verify every good thing that was rumoured of her.

Coincidentally, Cowperwood on flying visits to Chicago, Baltimore, Boston, Philadelphia, in connection with his London plans, and within the innermost sanctums of those most religious of all American institutions, the banks and trust companies, conferring with such individuals as would be at once the most useful, the most influential, and the least difficult to manage. And the blandness of his expression as he explained the certainty of larger and more permanent profits than had ever as yet been taken from any underground project. And, despite the so recent denunciations of him, being listened to with awe and even genuine respect. True, in Chicago, there were mumblings of contempt and hatred, but at the same time, envy. For the man was a force, attracting, as always, a veritable glare of publicity.

In so short a time as a month, he saw his primary problems solved. In many places, tentative agreements were made to purchase shares of his holding company which was presently to be organized in order to take over all the lines. For each share of the lines taken over, three shares in his own major company were to be paid. Indeed, except for some minor conferences on his Chicago holdings, he was really free to return to England, and would have done so had it not been for a new encounter of an old and familiar type. It had happened so often, in times past, when his name was being paraded before public eyes: he had been approached by ambitious and attractive women to whom his wealth, fame, and personal charm were irresistible. And now, because of a necessary visit to Baltimore, a vivid meeting of this sort.

It occurred in the hotel where he was staying. And to his mind at the time it seemed in no way to shadow the affection he had for Berenice. Nonetheless, at midnight, just returned from the home of the president of the Maryland Trust Company, and while sitting at his desk making notes upon their recent conversation, there was a tap at his door. Answering, he was informed by a feminine voice that a relative wished to speak to him. He smiled, for in all his experience he did not recall exactly that form of approach. He opened the door and saw a girl who, at a glance, he decided was not to be ignored and concerning whom he was instantly curious. She was young, slender, of medium height, assured, forceful, and magnetic. Her features were beautiful, and her dress.