They would receive her and say nothing. They were not sufficiently well known to the other members of the Butler family to have the latter suspect that she had gone there. She might readily disappear into the privacy of Cherry Street and not be seen or heard of for weeks. It is an interesting fact to contemplate that the Calligans, like the various members of the Butler family, never suspected Aileen of the least tendency toward a wayward existence. Hence her flight from her own family, if it ever came, would be laid more to the door of a temperamental pettishness than anything else.
On the other hand, in so far as the Butler family as a unit was concerned, it needed Aileen more than she needed it. It needed the light of her countenance to keep it appropriately cheerful, and if she went away there would be a distinct gulf that would not soon be overcome.
Butler, senior, for instance, had seen his little daughter grow into radiantly beautiful womanhood. He had seen her go to school and convent and learn to play the piano—to him a great accomplishment. Also he had seen her manner change and become very showy and her knowledge of life broaden, apparently, and become to him, at least, impressive. Her smart, dogmatic views about most things were, to him, at least, well worth listening to.
She knew more about books and art than Owen or Callum, and her sense of social manners was perfect. When she came to the table—
breakfast, luncheon, or dinner—she was to him always a charming object to see. He had produced Aileen—he congratulated himself.
He had furnished her the money to be so fine. He would continue to do so. No second-rate upstart of a man should be allowed to ruin her life. He proposed to take care of her always—to leave her so much money in a legally involved way that a failure of a husband could not possibly affect her. “You’re the charming lady this evenin’, I’m thinkin’,” was one of his pet remarks; and also, “My, but we’re that fine!” At table almost invariably she sat beside him and looked out for him. That was what he wanted. He had put her there beside him at his meals years before when she was a child.
Her mother, too, was inordinately fond of her, and Callum and Owen appropriately brotherly. So Aileen had thus far at least paid back with beauty and interest quite as much as she received, and all the family felt it to be so. When she was away for a day or two the house seemed glum—the meals less appetizing. When she returned, all were happy and gay again.
Aileen understood this clearly enough in a way. Now, when it came to thinking of leaving and shifting for herself, in order to avoid a trip which she did not care to be forced into, her courage was based largely on this keen sense of her own significance to the family. She thought over what her father had said, and decided she must act at once. She dressed for the street the next morning, after her father had gone, and decided to step in at the Calligans’
about noon, when Mamie would be at home for luncheon. Then she would take up the matter casually. If they had no objection, she would go there. She sometimes wondered why Cowperwood did not suggest, in his great stress, that they leave for some parts unknown; but she also felt that he must know best what he could do. His increasing troubles depressed her.
Mrs. Calligan was alone when she arrived and was delighted to see her. After exchanging the gossip of the day, and not knowing quite how to proceed in connection with the errand which had brought her, she went to the piano and played a melancholy air.
“Sure, it’s lovely the way you play, Aileen,” observed Mrs. Calligan who was unduly sentimental herself. “I love to hear you. I wish you’d come oftener to see us. You’re so rarely here nowadays.”
“Oh, I’ve been so busy, Mrs. Calligan,” replied Aileen. “I’ve had so much to do this fall, I just couldn’t. They wanted me to go to Europe; but I didn’t care to. Oh, dear!” she sighed, and in her playing swept off with a movement of sad, romantic significance.
The door opened and Mamie came in. Her commonplace face brightened at the sight of Aileen.
“Well, Aileen Butler!” she exclaimed. “Where did you come from?
Where have you been keeping yourself so long?”
Aileen rose to exchange kisses. “Oh, I’ve been very busy, Mamie.
I’ve just been telling your mother. How are you, anyway? How are you getting along in your work?”
Mamie recounted at once some school difficulties which were puzzling her—the growing size of classes and the amount of work expected.
While Mrs. Calligan was setting the table Mamie went to her room and Aileen followed her.
As she stood before her mirror arranging her hair Aileen looked at her meditatively.
“What’s the matter with you, Aileen, to-day?” Mamie asked. “You look so—” She stopped to give her a second glance.
“How do I look?” asked Aileen.
“Well, as if you were uncertain or troubled about something. I never saw you look that way before. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing,” replied Aileen. “I was just thinking.” She went to one of the windows which looked into the little yard, meditating on whether she could endure living here for any length of time.
The house was so small, the furnishings so very simple.
“There is something the matter with you to-day, Aileen,” observed Mamie, coming over to her and looking in her face. “You’re not like yourself at all.”
“I’ve got something on my mind,” replied Aileen—“something that’s worrying me. I don’t know just what to do—that’s what’s the matter.”
“Well, whatever can it be?” commented Mamie. “I never saw you act this way before. Can’t you tell me? What is it?”
“No, I don’t think I can—not now, anyhow.” Aileen paused. “Do you suppose your mother would object,” she asked, suddenly, “if I came here and stayed a little while? I want to get away from home for a time for a certain reason.”
“Why, Aileen Butler, how you talk!” exclaimed her friend. “Object!
You know she’d be delighted, and so would I. Oh, dear—can you come? But what makes you want to leave home?”
“That’s just what I can’t tell you—not now, anyhow. Not you, so much, but your mother. You know, I’m afraid of what she’d think,”
replied Aileen. “But, you mustn’t ask me yet, anyhow. I want to think. Oh, dear! But I want to come, if you’ll let me. Will you speak to your mother, or shall I?”
“Why, I will,” said Mamie, struck with wonder at this remarkable development; “but it’s silly to do it. I know what she’ll say before I tell her, and so do you. You can just bring your things and come. That’s all. She’d never say anything or ask anything, either, and you know that—if you didn’t want her to.” Mamie was all agog and aglow at the idea. She wanted the companionship of Aileen so much.
Aileen looked at her solemnly, and understood well enough why she was so enthusiastic—both she and her mother. Both wanted her presence to brighten their world. “But neither of you must tell anybody that I’m here, do you hear? I don’t want any one to know—
particularly no one of my family. I’ve a reason, and a good one, but I can’t tell you what it is—not now, anyhow. You’ll promise not to tell any one.”
“Oh, of course,” replied Mamie eagerly. “But you’re not going to run away for good, are you, Aileen?” she concluded curiously and gravely.
“Oh, I don’t know; I don’t know what I’ll do yet. I only know that I want to get away for a while, just now—that’s all.” She paused, while Mamie stood before her, agape.
“Well, of all things,” replied her friend. “Wonders never cease, do they, Aileen? But it will be so lovely to have you here. Mama will be so pleased. Of course, we won’t tell anybody if you don’t want us to. Hardly any one ever comes here; and if they do, you needn’t see them. You could have this big room next to me. Oh, wouldn’t that be nice? I’m perfectly delighted.” The young school-teacher’s spirits rose to a decided height. “Come on, why not tell mama right now?”
Aileen hesitated because even now she was not positive whether she should do this, but finally they went down the stairs together, Aileen lingering behind a little as they neared the bottom. Mamie burst in upon her mother with: “Oh, mama, isn’t it lovely? Aileen’s coming to stay with us for a while. She doesn’t want any one to know, and she’s coming right away.” Mrs. Calligan, who was holding a sugarbowl in her hand, turned to survey her with a surprised but smiling face. She was immediately curious as to why Aileen should want to come—why leave home. On the other hand, her feeling for Aileen was so deep that she was greatly and joyously intrigued by the idea. And why not? Was not the celebrated Edward Butler’s daughter a woman grown, capable of regulating her own affairs, and welcome, of course, as the honored member of so important a family.