Capitalists and financiers -- Fiction; Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction; Psychological fiction
He paused, looking at the spacious rug, which was of warm blues and
creams, and at the gilt ormolu bed. “Well done,” he said, and then,
suddenly changing his mood and dropping his talk of decoration (Aileen
was to his right, and he was between her and the door), he added: “Tell
me now why won’t you come to the barn-dance to-night? It would be
charming. You will enjoy it.”
Aileen saw the sudden change in his mood. She recognized that by
showing him the rooms she had led herself into an easily made
disturbing position. His dark engaging eyes told their own story.
“Oh, I don’t feel in the mood to. I haven’t for a number of things for
some time. I—”
She began to move unconcernedly about him toward the door, but he
detained her with his hand. “Don’t go just yet,” he said. “Let me talk
to you. You always evade me in such a nervous way. Don’t you like me at
all?”
“Oh yes, I like you; but can’t we talk just as well down in the
music-room as here? Can’t I tell you why I evade you down there just as
well as I can here?” She smiled a winning and now fearless smile.
Lynde showed his even white teeth in two gleaming rows. His eyes filled
with a gay maliciousness. “Surely, surely,” he replied; “but you’re so
nice in your own room here. I hate to leave it.”
“Just the same,” replied Aileen, still gay, but now slightly disturbed
also, “I think we might as well. You will find me just as entertaining
downstairs.”
She moved, but his strength, quite as Cowperwood’s, was much too great
for her. He was a strong man.
“Really, you know,” she said, “you mustn’t act this way here. Some one
might come in. What cause have I given you to make you think you could
do like this with me?”
“What cause?” he asked, bending over her and smoothing her plump arms
with his brown hands. “Oh, no definite cause, perhaps. You are a cause
in yourself. I told you how sweet I thought you were, the night we were
at the Alcott. Didn’t you understand then? I thought you did.”
“Oh, I understood that you liked me, and all that, perhaps. Any one
might do that. But as for anything like—well—taking such liberties with
me—I never dreamed of it. But listen. I think I hear some one coming.”
Aileen, making a sudden vigorous effort to free herself and failing,
added: “Please let me go, Mr. Lynde. It isn’t very gallant of you, I
must say, restraining a woman against her will. If I had given you any
real cause—I shall be angry in a moment.”
Again the even smiling teeth and dark, wrinkling, malicious eyes.
“Really! How you go on! You would think I was a perfect stranger. Don’t
you remember what you said to me at lunch? You didn’t keep your
promise. You practically gave me to understand that you would come. Why
didn’t you? Are you afraid of me, or don’t you like me, or both? I
think you’re delicious, splendid, and I want to know.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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