Capitalists and financiers -- Fiction; Psychological fiction
The preparation of this reception had been quite a matter of
importance, for it was necessary for financial reasons to make it as
extensive as possible, and for social reasons as exclusive. It was
therefore decided that the afternoon reception at Frank’s house, with
its natural overflow into Henry W.’s, was to be for all—the Tighes,
Steners, Butlers, Mollenhauers, as well as the more select groups to
which, for instance, belonged Arthur Rivers, Mrs. Seneca Davis, Mr. and
Mrs. Trenor Drake, and some of the younger Drexels and Clarks, whom
Frank had met. It was not likely that the latter would condescend, but
cards had to be sent. Later in the evening a less democratic group if
possible was to be entertained, albeit it would have to be extended to
include the friends of Anna, Mrs. Cowperwood, Edward, and Joseph, and
any list which Frank might personally have in mind. This was to be the
list. The best that could be persuaded, commanded, or influenced of the
young and socially elect were to be invited here.
It was not possible, however, not to invite the Butlers, parents and
children, particularly the children, for both afternoon and evening,
since Cowperwood was personally attracted to Aileen and despite the
fact that the presence of the parents would be most unsatisfactory.
Even Aileen as he knew was a little unsatisfactory to Anna and Mrs.
Frank Cowperwood; and these two, when they were together supervising
the list of invitations, often talked about it.
“She’s so hoidenish,” observed Anna, to her sister-in-law, when they
came to the name of Aileen. “She thinks she knows so much, and she
isn’t a bit refined. Her father! Well, if I had her father I wouldn’t
talk so smart.”
Mrs. Cowperwood, who was before her secretaire in her new boudoir,
lifted her eyebrows.
“You know, Anna, I sometimes wish that Frank’s business did not compel
me to have anything to do with them. Mrs. Butler is such a bore. She
means well enough, but she doesn’t know anything. And Aileen is too
rough. She’s too forward, I think. She comes over here and plays upon
the piano, particularly when Frank’s here. I wouldn’t mind so much for
myself, but I know it must annoy him. All her pieces are so noisy. She
never plays anything really delicate and refined.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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