any such thing. He knew too much about life. But 
he was angry, hurt, shamed, and disappointed. Aileen! 
His Aileen! How could she? 
He went up the stairs to his own office slowly. He 
went in and sat down, and thought and thought. Ten 
o'clock came, and eleven. His son bothered him with an 
occasional matter of interest, but, finding him moody, 
finally abandoned him to his own speculations. It was 
twelve, and then one, and he was still sitting there think- 
ing, when the presence of Frank A. Cowperwood was 
Cowperwood, after his herculean labors of the morn- 
ing, had, as has been said, driven rapidly to Butler's 
house; but, finding him out, and not encountering 
Aileen, he had driven back to Fourth Street, and had 
hurried up to the office of the Edward Butler Contract- 
ing Company, which was also the center of some of 
Butler's street-railway interests. The floor space con- 
trolled by the company was divided into the usual official 
compartments, with sections for the bookkeepers, the 
road-managers, the treasurer, and so on. Owen Butler 
and his father had small but attractively furnished offices 
in the rear, where they transacted all the important busi- 
ness of the company. 
During this drive, curiously, by reason of one of those
strange psychologic intuitions which so often precede a
human difficulty of one sort or another, Cowperwood had
been thinking of Aileen. He was thinking of the 
culiarity of his relationship to her, and of the fact that
now, in spite of what Butler would consider a great evil
done him in respect to his daughter, he was running to
him for assistance. He was going to ask of the man
whose daughter the world would say he had seduced that
this loan of one hundred thousand dollars should not be
called, and in addition that Butler loan him one hundred
thousand dollars more, if possible. Butler had of late
been less generous in his investments through Cowper-