When she next saw him, which was several weeks later at an affair of the Courtney Tabors, friends of Lord’s, he exclaimed:
“Oh yes. By George! You’re the Mrs. Cowperwood I met several weeks ago at Rhees Grier’s studio. I’ve not forgotten you. I’ve seen you in my eye all over Chicago. Taylor Lord introduced me to you. Say, but you’re a beautiful woman!”
He leaned ingratiatingly, whimsically, admiringly near.
Aileen realized that for so early in the afternoon, and considering the crowd, he was curiously enthusiastic. The truth was that because of some rounds he had made elsewhere he was verging toward too much liquor. His eye was alight, his color coppery, his air swagger, devil-may-care, bacchanal. This made her a little cautious; but she rather liked his brown, hard face, handsome mouth, and crisp Jovian curls. His compliment was not utterly improper; but she nevertheless attempted coyly to avoid him.
“Come, Polk, here’s an old friend of yours over here—Sadie Boutwell—she wants to meet you again,” some one observed, catching him by the arm.
“No, you don’t,” he exclaimed, genially, and yet at the same time a little resentfully—the kind of disjointed resentment a man who has had the least bit too much is apt to feel on being interrupted. “I’m not going to walk all over Chicago thinking of a woman I’ve seen somewhere only to be carried away the first time I do meet her. I’m going to talk to her first.”
Aileen laughed. “It’s charming of you, but we can meet again, perhaps. Besides, there’s some one here”—Lord was tactfully directing her attention to another woman. Rhees Grier and McKibben, who were present also, came to her assistance. In the hubbub that ensued Aileen was temporarily extricated and Lynde tactfully steered out of her way. But they had met again, and it was not to be the last time. Subsequent to this second meeting, Lynde thought the matter over quite calmly, and decided that he must make a definite effort to become more intimate with Aileen. Though she was not as young as some others, she suited his present mood exactly. She was rich physically—voluptuous and sentient. She was not of his world precisely, but what of it? She was the wife of an eminent financier, who had been in society once, and she herself had a dramatic record. He was sure of that. He could win her if he wanted to. It would be easy, knowing her as he did, and knowing what he did about her.