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- Стр. 113/332
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He
was
underestimating
Mr.
Truman
Leslie
MacDonald
,
principally
because
he
did
not
like
him
.
He
thought
his
father
might
return
and
oust
him
.
It
was
one
of
the
most
vital
mistakes
he
ever
made
in
his
life
.
During
this
period
of
what
might
have
been
called
financial
and
commercial
progress
,
the
affairs
of
Aileen
and
Cowperwood
had
been
to
a
certain
extent
smoothed
over
.
Each
summer
now
,
partly
to
take
Aileen
's
mind
off
herself
and
partly
to
satisfy
his
own
desire
to
see
the
world
and
collect
objects
of
art
,
in
which
he
was
becoming
more
and
more
interested
,
it
was
Cowperwood
's
custom
to
make
with
his
wife
a
short
trip
abroad
or
to
foreign
American
lands
,
visiting
in
these
two
years
Russia
,
Scandinavia
,
Argentine
,
Chili
,
and
Mexico
.
Their
plan
was
to
leave
in
May
or
June
with
the
outward
rush
of
traffic
,
and
return
in
September
or
early
October
.
His
idea
was
to
soothe
Aileen
as
much
as
possible
,
to
fill
her
mind
with
pleasing
anticipations
as
to
her
eventual
social
triumph
somewhere
--
in
New
York
or
London
,
if
not
Chicago
--
to
make
her
feel
that
in
spite
of
his
physical
desertion
he
was
still
spiritually
loyal
.
By
now
also
Cowperwood
was
so
shrewd
that
he
had
the
ability
to
simulate
an
affection
and
practise
a
gallantry
which
he
did
not
feel
,
or
,
rather
,
that
was
not
backed
by
real
passion
.
He
was
the
soul
of
attention
;
he
would
buy
her
flowers
,
jewels
,
knickknacks
,
and
ornaments
;
he
would
see
that
her
comfort
was
looked
after
to
the
last
detail
;
and
yet
,
at
the
very
same
moment
,
perhaps
,
he
would
be
looking
cautiously
about
to
see
what
life
might
offer
in
the
way
of
illicit
entertainment
.
Aileen
knew
this
,
although
she
could
not
prove
it
to
be
true
.
At
the
same
time
she
had
an
affection
and
an
admiration
for
the
man
which
gripped
her
in
spite
of
herself
.
You
have
,
perhaps
,
pictured
to
yourself
the
mood
of
some
general
who
has
perhaps
suffered
a
great
defeat
;
the
employee
who
after
years
of
faithful
service
finds
himself
discharged
.
What
shall
life
say
to
the
loving
when
their
love
is
no
longer
of
any
value
,
when
all
that
has
been
placed
upon
the
altar
of
affection
has
been
found
to
be
a
vain
sacrifice
?
Philosophy
?
Give
that
to
dolls
to
play
with
.
Religion
?
Seek
first
the
metaphysical-minded
.
Aileen
was
no
longer
the
lithe
,
forceful
,
dynamic
girl
of
1865
,
when
Cowperwood
first
met
her
.
She
was
still
beautiful
,
itis
true
,
a
fair
,
full-blown
,
matronly
creature
not
more
than
thirty-five
,
looking
perhaps
thirty
,
feeling
,
alas
,
that
she
was
a
girl
and
still
as
attractive
as
ever
.
It
is
a
grim
thing
to
a
woman
,
however
fortunately
placed
,
to
realize
that
age
is
creeping
on
,
and
that
love
,
that
singing
will-o
'
-
the-wisp
,
is
fading
into
the
ultimate
dark
.
Aileen
,
within
the
hour
of
her
greatest
triumph
,
had
seen
love
die
.
It
was
useless
to
tell
herself
,
as
she
did
sometimes
,
that
it
might
come
back
,
revive
.
Her
ultimately
realistic
temperament
told
her
this
could
never
be
.
Though
she
had
routed
Rita
Sohlberg
,
she
was
fully
aware
that
Cowperwood
's
original
constancy
was
gone
.
She
was
no
longer
happy
.
Love
was
dead
.
That
sweet
illusion
,
with
its
pearly
pink
for
heart
and
borders
,
that
laughing
cherub
that
lures
with
Cupid
's
mouth
and
misty
eye
,
that
young
tendril
of
the
vine
of
life
that
whispers
of
eternal
spring-time
,
that
calls
and
calls
where
aching
,
wearied
feet
by
legion
follow
,
was
no
longer
in
existence
.
In
vain
the
tears
,
the
storms
,
the
self-tortures
;
in
vain
the
looks
in
the
mirror
,
the
studied
examination
of
plump
,
sweet
features
still
fresh
and
inviting
.
One
day
,
at
the
sight
of
tired
circles
under
her
eyes
,
she
ripped
from
her
neck
a
lovely
ruche
that
she
was
adjusting
and
,
throwing
herself
on
her
bed
,
cried
as
though
her
heart
would
break
.
Why
primp
?
Why
ornament
?
Her
Frank
did
not
love
her
.
What
to
her
now
was
a
handsome
residence
in
Michigan
Avenue
,
the
refinements
of
a
French
boudoir
,
or
clothing
that
ran
the
gamut
of
the
dressmaker
's
art
,
hats
that
were
like
orchids
blooming
in
serried
rows
?
In
vain
,
in
vain
!
Like
the
raven
that
perched
above
the
lintel
of
the
door
,
sad
memory
was
here
,
grave
in
her
widow
weeds
,
crying
"
never
more
.
"
Aileen
knew
that
the
sweet
illusion
which
had
bound
Cowperwood
to
her
for
a
time
had
gone
and
would
never
come
again
.
He
was
here
.
His
step
was
in
the
room
mornings
and
evenings
;
at
night
for
long
prosaic
,
uninterrupted
periods
she
could
hear
him
breathing
by
her
side
,
his
hand
on
her
body
.
There
were
other
nights
when
he
was
not
there
--
when
he
was
"
out
of
the
city
"
--
and
she
resigned
herself
to
accept
his
excuses
at
their
face
value
.
Why
quarrel
?
she
asked
herself
.
What
could
she
do
?
She
was
waiting
,
waiting
,
but
for
what
?
And
Cowperwood
,
noting
the
strange
,
unalterable
changes
which
time
works
in
us
all
,
the
inward
lap
of
the
marks
of
age
,
the
fluted
recession
of
that
splendor
and
radiance
which
is
youth
,
sighed
at
times
perhaps
,
but
turned
his
face
to
that
dawn
which
is
forever
breaking
where
youth
is
.
Not
for
him
that
poetic
loyalty
which
substitutes
for
the
perfection
of
young
love
its
memories
,
or
takes
for
the
glitter
of
passion
and
desire
that
once
was
the
happy
thoughts
of
companionship
--
the
crystal
memories
that
like
early
dews
congealed
remain
beaded
recollections
to
comfort
or
torture
for
the
end
of
former
joys
.
On
the
contrary
,
after
the
vanishing
of
Rita
Sohlberg
,
with
all
that
she
meant
in
the
way
of
a
delicate
insouciance
which
Aileen
had
never
known
,
his
temperament
ached
,
for
he
must
have
something
like
that
.
Truth
to
say
,
he
must
always
have
youth
,
the
illusion
of
beauty
,
vanity
in
womanhood
,
the
novelty
of
a
new
,
untested
temperament
,
quite
as
he
must
have
pictures
,
old
porcelain
,
music
,
a
mansion
,
illuminated
missals
,
power
,
the
applause
of
the
great
,
unthinking
world
.
As
has
been
said
,
this
promiscuous
attitude
on
Cowperwood
's
part
was
the
natural
flowering
out
of
a
temperament
that
was
chronically
promiscuous
,
intellectually
uncertain
,
and
philosophically
anarchistic
.
From
one
point
of
view
it
might
have
been
said
of
him
that
he
was
seeking
the
realization
of
an
ideal
,
yet
to
one
's
amazement
our
very
ideals
change
at
times
and
leave
us
floundering
in
the
dark
.
