She had called on Aileen quite regularly in the past, with or without Harold, and had frequently driven with the Cowperwoods or joined them at the theater or elsewhere. She had decided, after becoming intimate with Cowperwood, to study art again, which was a charming blind, for it called for attendance at afternoon or evening classes which she frequently skipped. Besides, since Harold had more money he was becoming gayer, more reckless and enthusiastic over women, and Cowperwood deliberately advised her to encourage him in some liaison which, in case exposure should subsequently come to them, would effectually tie his hands. “Let him get in some affair,” Cowperwood told Rita. “We’ll put detectives on his trail and get evidence. He won’t have a word to say.” “We don’t really need to do that,” she protested sweetly, naively. “He’s been in enough scrapes as it is. He’s given me some of the letters—” (she pronounced it “lettahs”)—“written him.” “But we’ll need actual witnesses if we ever need anything at all. Just tell me when he’s in love again, and I’ll do the rest.” “You know I think,” she drawled, amusingly, “that he is now. I saw him on the street the other day with one of his students—rather a pretty girl, too.” Cowperwood was pleased. Under the circumstances he would almost have been willing—not quite—for Aileen to succumb to Sohlberg in order to entrap her and make his situation secure. Yet he really did not wish it in the last analysis—would have been grieved temporarily if she had deserted him. However, in the case of Sohlberg, detectives were employed, the new affair with the flighty pupil was unearthed and sworn to by witnesses, and this, combined with the “lettahs” held by Rita, constituted ample material wherewith to “hush up” the musician if ever he became unduly obstreperous. So Cowperwood and Rita’s state was quite comfortable.