Owen’s brow clouded.  A hard, contentious look came into his eyes.  He had much of his father’s force.  What in the devil were they talking about?  What Miss Butler did they have in mind?  Could this be Aileen or Norah, and how could Cowperwood come to be in with either of them?  It could not possibly be Norah, he reflected; she was very much infatuated with a young man whom he knew, and was going to marry him.  Aileen had been most friendly with the Cowperwoods, and had often spoken well of the financier.  Could it be she?  He could not believe it.  He thought once of overtaking the two acquaintances and demanding to know what they meant, but when he came out on the step they were already some distance down the street and in the opposite direction from that in which he wished to go.  He decided to ask his father about this.

On demand, old Butler confessed at once, but insisted that his son keep silent about it.

“I wish I’d have known,” said Owen, grimly.  “I’d have shot the dirty dog.”

“Aisy, aisy,” said Butler.  “Yer own life’s worth more than his, and ye’d only be draggin’ the rest of yer family in the dirt with him.  He’s had somethin’ to pay him for his dirty trick, and he’ll have more.  Just ye say nothin’ to no one.  Wait.  He’ll be wantin’ to get out in a year or two.  Say nothin’ to her aither.  Talkin’ won’t help there.  She’ll come to her sinses when he’s been away long enough, I’m thinkin’.”  Owen had tried to be civil to his sister after that, but since he was a stickler for social perfection and advancement, and so eager to get up in the world himself, he could not understand how she could possibly have done any such thing.  He resented bitterly the stumbling-block she had put in his path.  Now, among other things, his enemies would have this to throw in his face if they wanted to—­and they would want to, trust life for that.

Callum reached his knowledge of the matter in quite another manner, but at about the same time.  He was a member of an athletic club which had an attractive building in the city, and a fine country club, where he went occasionally to enjoy the swimming-pool and the Turkish bath connected with it.  One of his friends approached him there in the billiard-room one evening and said, “Say, Butler, you know I’m a good friend of yours, don’t you?”

“Why, certainly, I know it,” replied Callum.  “What’s the matter?”

“Well, you know,” said the young individual, whose name was Richard Pethick, looking at Callum with a look of almost strained affection, “I wouldn’t come to you with any story that I thought would hurt your feelings or that you oughtn’t to know about, but I do think you ought to know about this.”  He pulled at a high white collar which was choking his neck.

“I know you wouldn’t, Pethick,” replied Callum; very much interested.  “What is it?  What’s the point?”

“Well, I don’t like to say anything,” replied Pethick, “but that fellow Hibbs is saying things around here about your sister.”