THE FINANCIER 
once or twice to the Cowperwood home and elsewhere 
where she went, and offended by the passionate interest 
youth may display without admitting social equality, 
had turned in thought to the strongest, most artistic, 
most distinguished personality of them all—Cowperwood 
himself. In him instinctively she recognized a way 
out—a door—and by the same token a subtle, impend- 
ing artistic future of great magnificence. (That Cowper- 
wood saw the same in her need not be assumed.) This 
man would make a name for himself ; he would rise 
beyond anything he now dreamed of—she felt it. There 
was here in him, in some nebulous, unrecognizable 
form, a great artistic reality which was finer than any- 
thing she could plan for herself. She wanted luxury, 
magnificence, social station. Well, if she could get this 
man they would come to her. There were, apparently, 
insuperable barriers in the way; but hers was no weak- 
ling nature, and neither was his. They ran together 
temperamentally from the first like two leopards. Her 
own thoughts—crude, half formulated, half spoken— 
nevertheless matched his to a degree in the quality of 
their force and their raw directness. 
" I don't think papa knows how to do," she said to 
him, one day. " It isn't his fault. He can't help it. 
He knows that he can't. And he knows that I know it. 
For years I wanted him to move out of that old house 
there. He knows that he ought to. But even that 
wouldn't do much good." 
She paused, looking at him with a straight, clear, vig- 
orous glance. He liked the medallion sharpness of her 
features—their smooth, vigorous modeling. 
" Never mind, pet," he replied. They were in the 
North Tenth Street house at the time; and he had been 
more than ever impressed with the force and fire of her 
disposition and the essential largeness of a mind which 
would never be perfect for want of some subtle strain of 
refinement—he could not tell what. " We will arrange 
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