But this matter of Aileen was up for consideration and solution at this present moment, and because of his forceful, determined character he was presently not at all disturbed by the problem it presented.  It was a problem, like some of those knotty financial complications which presented themselves daily; but it was not insoluble.  What did he want to do?  He couldn’t leave his wife and fly with Aileen, that was certain.  He had too many connections.  He had too many social, and thinking of his children and parents, emotional as well as financial ties to bind him.  Besides, he was not at all sure that he wanted to.  He did not intend to leave his growing interests, and at the same time he did not intend to give up Aileen immediately.  The unheralded manifestation of interest on her part was too attractive.  Mrs. Cowperwood was no longer what she should be physically and mentally, and that in itself to him was sufficient to justify his present interest in this girl.  Why fear anything, if only he could figure out a way to achieve it without harm to himself?  At the same time he thought it might never be possible for him to figure out any practical or protective program for either himself or Aileen, and that made him silent and reflective.  For by now he was intensely drawn to her, as he could feel—­something chemic and hence dynamic was uppermost in him now and clamoring for expression.

At the same time, in contemplating his wife in connection with all this, he had many qualms, some emotional, some financial.  While she had yielded to his youthful enthusiasm for her after her husband’s death, he had only since learned that she was a natural conservator of public morals—­the cold purity of the snowdrift in so far as the world might see, combined at times with the murky mood of the wanton.  And yet, as he had also learned, she was ashamed of the passion that at times swept and dominated her.  This irritated Cowperwood, as it would always irritate any strong, acquisitive, direct-seeing temperament.  While he had no desire to acquaint the whole world with his feelings, why should there be concealment between them, or at least mental evasion of a fact which physically she subscribed to?  Why do one thing and think another?  To be sure, she was devoted to him in her quiet way, not passionately (as he looked back he could not say that she had ever been that), but intellectually.  Duty, as she understood it, played a great part in this.  She was dutiful.  And then what people thought, what the time-spirit demanded—­these were the great things.  Aileen, on the contrary, was probably not dutiful, and it was obvious that she had no temperamental connection with current convention.  No doubt she had been as well instructed as many another girl, but look at her.  She was not obeying her instructions.