“No, Frank,” she whispered, excitedly; “if it’s father, you’d better let me go.  I know how to talk to him.  He won’t say anything to me.  You stay here.  I’m not afraid—­really, I’m not.  If I want you, I’ll call you.”

He had come over and taken her pretty chin in his hands, and was looking solemnly into her eyes.

“You mustn’t be afraid,” he said.  “I’ll go down.  If it’s your father, you can go away with him.  I don’t think he’ll do anything either to you or to me.  If it is he, write me something at the office.  I’ll be there.  If I can help you in any way, I will.  We can fix up something.  There’s no use trying to explain this.  Say nothing at all.”

He had on his coat and overcoat, and was standing with his hat in his hand.  Aileen was nearly dressed, struggling with the row of red current-colored buttons which fastened her dress in the back.  Cowperwood helped her.  When she was ready—­hat, gloves, and all—­he said: 

“Now let me go first.  I want to see.”

“No; please, Frank,” she begged, courageously.  “Let me, I know it’s father.  Who else could it be?” She wondered at the moment whether her father had brought her two brothers but would not now believe it.  He would not do that, she knew.  “You can come if I call.”  She went on.  “Nothing’s going to happen, though.  I understand him.  He won’t do anything to me.  If you go it will only make him angry.  Let me go.  You stand in the door here.  If I don’t call, it’s all right.  Will you?”

She put her two pretty hands on his shoulders, and he weighed the matter very carefully.  “Very well,” he said, “only I’ll go to the foot of the stairs with you.”

They went to the door and he opened it.  Outside were Alderson with two other detectives and Mrs. Davis, standing perhaps five feet away.

“Well,” said Cowperwood, commandingly, looking at Alderson.

“There’s a gentleman down-stairs wishes to see the lady,” said Alderson.  “It’s her father, I think,” he added quietly.

Cowperwood made way for Aileen, who swept by, furious at the presence of men and this exposure.  Her courage had entirely returned.  She was angry now to think her father would make a public spectacle of her.  Cowperwood started to follow.

“I’d advise you not to go down there right away,” cautioned Alderson, sagely.  “That’s her father.  Butler’s her name, isn’t it?  He don’t want you so much as he wants her.”

Cowperwood nevertheless walked slowly toward the head of the stairs, listening.

“What made you come here, father?” he heard Aileen ask.

Butler’s reply he could not hear, but he was now at ease for he knew how much Butler loved his daughter.

Confronted by her father, Aileen was now attempting to stare defiantly, to look reproachful, but Butler’s deep gray eyes beneath their shaggy brows revealed such a weight of weariness and despair as even she, in her anger and defiance, could not openly flaunt.  It was all too sad.