She took the seat, not knowing what to make of his procedure.  On the instant her promise to Cowperwood to deny everything, whatever happened, came back to her.  If her father was about to attack her on that score, he would get no satisfaction, she thought.  She owed it to Frank.  Her pretty face strengthened and hardened on the instant.  Her small, white teeth set themselves in two even rows; and her father saw quite plainly that she was consciously bracing herself for an attack of some kind.  He feared by this that she was guilty, and he was all the more distressed, ashamed, outraged, made wholly unhappy.  He fumbled in the left-hand pocket of his coat and drew forth from among the various papers the fatal communication so cheap in its physical texture.  His big fingers fumbled almost tremulously as he fished the letter-sheet out of the small envelope and unfolded it without saying a word.  Aileen watched his face and his hands, wondering what it could be that he had here.  He handed the paper over, small in his big fist, and said, “Read that.”

Aileen took it, and for a second was relieved to be able to lower her eyes to the paper.  Her relief vanished in a second, when she realized how in a moment she would have to raise them again and look him in the face.

Dear sir—­This is to warn you that your daughter Aileen is running around with a man that she shouldn’t, Frank A. Cowperwood, the banker.  If you don’t believe it, watch the house at 931 North Tenth Street.  Then you can see for yourself.

In spite of herself the color fled from her cheeks instantly, only to come back in a hot, defiant wave.

“Why, what a lie!” she said, lifting her eyes to her father’s.  “To think that any one should write such a thing of me!  How dare they!  I think it’s a shame!”

Old Butler looked at her narrowly, solemnly.  He was not deceived to any extent by her bravado.  If she were really innocent, he knew she would have jumped to her feet in her defiant way.  Protest would have been written all over her.  As it was, she only stared haughtily.  He read through her eager defiance to the guilty truth.

“How do ye know, daughter, that I haven’t had the house watched?” he said, quizzically.  “How do ye know that ye haven’t been seen goin’ in there?”

Only Aileen’s solemn promise to her lover could have saved her from this subtle thrust.  As it was, she paled nervously; but she saw Frank Cowperwood, solemn and distinguished, asking her what she would say if she were caught.

“It’s a lie!” she said, catching her breath.  “I wasn’t at any house at that number, and no one saw me going in there.  How can you ask me that, father?”

In spite of his mixed feelings of uncertainty and yet unshakable belief that his daughter was guilty, he could not help admiring her courage—­she was so defiant, as she sat there, so set in her determination to lie and thus defend herself.  Her beauty helped her in his mood, raised her in his esteem.  After all, what could you do with a woman of this kind?  She was not a ten-year-old girl any more, as in a way he sometimes continued to fancy her.