Aileen in the bosom of her family, smart and well-cared for, was one thing.  Aileen out in the world dependent on him was another.  He had never imagined that she would be compelled to leave before he was prepared to take her; and if she did now, it might stir up complications which would be anything but pleasant to contemplate.  Still he was fond of her, very, and would do anything to make her happy.  He could support her in a very respectable way even now, if he did not eventually go to prison, and even there he might manage to make some shift for her.  It would be so much better, though, if he could persuade her to remain at home until he knew exactly what his fate was to be.  He never doubted but that some day, whatever happened, within a reasonable length of time, he would be rid of all these complications and well-to-do again, in which case, if he could get a divorce, he wanted to marry Aileen.  If not, he would take her with him anyhow, and from this point of view it might be just as well as if she broke away from her family now.  But from the point of view of present complications—­the search Butler would make—­it might be dangerous.  He might even publicly charge him with abduction.  He therefore decided to persuade Aileen to stay at home, drop meetings and communications for the time being, and even go abroad.  He would be all right until she came back and so would she—­common sense ought to rule in this case.

With all this in mind he set out to keep the appointment she suggested in her letter, nevertheless feeling it a little dangerous to do so.

“Are you sure,” he asked, after he had listened to her description of the Calligan homestead, “that you would like it there?  It sounds rather poor to me.”

“Yes, but I like them so much,” replied Aileen.

“And you’re sure they won’t tell on you?”

“Oh, no; never, never!”

“Very well,” he concluded.  “You know what you’re doing.  I don’t want to advise you against your will.  If I were you, though, I’d take your father’s advice and go away for a while.  He’ll get over this then, and I’ll still be here.  I can write you occasionally, and you can write me.”

The moment Cowperwood said this Aileen’s brow clouded.  Her love for him was so great that there was something like a knife thrust in the merest hint at an extended separation.  Her Frank here and in trouble—­on trial maybe and she away!  Never!  What could he mean by suggesting such a thing?  Could it be that he didn’t care for her as much as she did for him?  Did he really love her? she asked herself.  Was he going to desert her just when she was going to do the thing which would bring them nearer together?  Her eyes clouded, for she was terribly hurt.

“Why, how you talk!” she exclaimed.  “You know I won’t leave Philadelphia now.  You certainly don’t expect me to leave you.”

Cowperwood saw it all very clearly.  He was too shrewd not to.  He was immensely fond of her.  Good heaven, he thought, he would not hurt her feelings for the world!