distance and arrangement were concerned, and whether that could possibly have any intellectual significance.  The nebulous conglomeration of the suns in Pleiades suggested a soundless depth of space, and he thought of the earth floating like a little ball in immeasurable reaches of ether.  His own life appeared very trivial in view of these things, and he found himself asking whether it was all really of any significance or importance.  He shook these moods off with ease, however, for the man was possessed of a sense of grandeur, largely in relation to himself and his affairs; and his temperament was essentially material and vital.  Something kept telling him that whatever his present state he must yet grow to be a significant personage, one whose fame would be heralded the world over—­who must try, try, try.  It was not given all men to see far or to do brilliantly; but to him it was given, and he must be what he was cut out to be.  There was no more escaping the greatness that was inherent in him than there was for so many others the littleness that was in them.

Mrs. Cowperwood came in that afternoon quite solemnly, bearing several changes of linen, a pair of sheets, some potted meat and a pie.  She was not exactly doleful, but Cowperwood thought that she was tending toward it, largely because of her brooding over his relationship to Aileen, which he knew that she knew.  Something in her manner decided him to speak before she left; and after asking her how the children were, and listening to her inquiries in regard to the things that he needed, he said to her, sitting on his single chair while she sat on his bed: 

“Lillian, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk with you about for some time.  I should have done it before, but it’s better late than never.  I know that you know that there is something between Aileen Butler and me, and we might as well have it open and aboveboard.  It’s true I am very fond of her and she is very devoted to me, and if ever I get out of here I want to arrange it so that I can marry her.  That means that you will have to give me a divorce, if you will; and I want to talk to you about that now.  This can’t be so very much of a surprise to you, because you must have seen this long while that our relationship hasn’t been all that it might have been, and under the circumstances this can’t prove such a very great hardship to you—­I am sure.”  He paused, waiting, for Mrs. Cowperwood at first said nothing.

Her thought, when he first broached this, was that she ought to make some demonstration of astonishment or wrath:  but when she looked into his steady, examining eyes, so free from the illusion of or interest in demonstrations of any kind, she realized how useless it would be.  He was so utterly matter-of-fact in what seemed to her quite private and secret affairs—­very shameless.  She had never been able to understand quite how he could take the subtleties of life as he did, anyhow.  Certain things which she always