“I never expected to find you in a place like this, daughter,” he said.  “I should have thought you would have thought better of yourself.”  His voice choked and he stopped.

“I know who you’re here with,” he continued, shaking his head sadly.  “The dog!  I’ll get him yet.  I’ve had men watchin’ you all the time.  Oh, the shame of this day!  The shame of this day!  You’ll be comin’ home with me now.”

“That’s just it, father,” began Aileen.  “You’ve had men watching me.  I should have thought—­” She stopped, because he put up his hand in a strange, agonized, and yet dominating way.

“None of that! none of that!” he said, glowering under his strange, sad, gray brows.  “I can’t stand it!  Don’t tempt me!  We’re not out of this place yet.  He’s not!  You’ll come home with me now.”

Aileen understood.  It was Cowperwood he was referring to.  That frightened her.

“I’m ready,” she replied, nervously.

The old man led the way broken-heartedly.  He felt he would never live to forget the agony of this hour.

Chapter XXXVII

In spite of Butler’s rage and his determination to do many things to the financier, if he could, he was so wrought up and shocked by the attitude of Aileen that he could scarcely believe he was the same man he had been twenty-four hours before.  She was so nonchalant, so defiant.  He had expected to see her wilt completely when confronted with her guilt.  Instead, he found, to his despair, after they were once safely out of the house, that he had aroused a fighting quality in the girl which was not incomparable to his own.  She had some of his own and Owen’s grit.  She sat beside him in the little runabout—­not his own—­in which he was driving her home, her face coloring and blanching by turns, as different waves of thought swept over her, determined to stand her ground now that her father had so plainly trapped her, to declare for Cowperwood and her love and her position in general.  What did she care, she asked herself, what her father thought now?  She was in this thing.  She loved Cowperwood; she was permanently disgraced in her father’s eyes.  What difference could it all make now?  He had fallen so low in his parental feeling as to spy on her and expose her before other men—­strangers, detectives, Cowperwood.  What real affection could she have for him after this?  He had made a mistake, according to her.  He had done a foolish and a contemptible thing, which was not warranted however bad her actions might have been.  What could he hope to accomplish by rushing in on her in this way and ripping the veil from her very soul before these other men—­these crude detectives?  Oh, the agony of that walk from the bedroom to the reception-room!  She would never forgive her father for this—­never, never, never!  He had now killed her love for him—­that was what she felt.  It was to be a battle royal between them from now on.  As they rode—­in complete silence for a while—­her hands clasped and unclasped defiantly, her nails cutting her palms, and her mouth hardened.