fancied should be hushed up he spoke of with the greatest nonchalance.  Her ears tingled sometimes at his frankness in disposing of a social situation; but she thought this must be characteristic of notable men, and so there was nothing to be said about it.  Certain men did as they pleased; society did not seem to be able to deal with them in any way.  Perhaps God would, later—­she was not sure.  Anyhow, bad as he was, direct as he was, forceful as he was, he was far more interesting than most of the more conservative types in whom the social virtues of polite speech and modest thoughts were seemingly predominate.

“I know,” she said, rather peacefully, although with a touch of anger and resentment in her voice.  “I’ve known all about it all this time.  I expected you would say something like this to me some day.  It’s a nice reward for all my devotion to you; but it’s just like you, Frank.  When you are set on something, nothing can stop you.  It wasn’t enough that you were getting along so nicely and had two children whom you ought to love, but you had to take up with this Butler creature until her name and yours are a by-word throughout the city.  I know that she comes to this prison.  I saw her out here one day as I was coming in, and I suppose every one else knows it by now.  She has no sense of decency and she does not care—­the wretched, vain thing—­but I would have thought that you would be ashamed, Frank, to go on the way that you have, when you still have me and the children and your father and mother and when you are certain to have such a hard fight to get yourself on your feet, as it is.  If she had any sense of decency she would not have anything to do with you—­the shameless thing.”

Cowperwood looked at his wife with unflinching eyes.  He read in her remarks just what his observation had long since confirmed—­that she was sympathetically out of touch with him.  She was no longer so attractive physically, and intellectually she was not Aileen’s equal.  Also that contact with those women who had deigned to grace his home in his greatest hour of prosperity had proved to him conclusively she was lacking in certain social graces.  Aileen was by no means so vastly better, still she was young and amenable and adaptable, and could still be improved.  Opportunity as he now chose to think, might make Aileen, whereas for Lillian—­or at least, as he now saw it—­it could do nothing.

“I’ll tell you how it is, Lillian,” he said; “I’m not sure that you are going to get what I mean exactly, but you and I are not at all well suited to each other any more.”

“You didn’t seem to think that three or four years ago,” interrupted his wife, bitterly.