one exceptional southern highway, the Via Appia of the South Side,
all the urgent aspirants to notable fortunes. Men of wealth who
had met only casually in trade here nodded to each other. Smart
daughters, society-bred sons, handsome wives came down-town in
traps, Victorias, carriages, and vehicles of the latest design to
drive home their trade-weary fathers or brothers, relatives or
friends. The air was gay with a social hope, a promise of youth
and affection, and that fine flush of material life that recreates
itself in delight. Lithe, handsome, well-bred animals, singly and
in jingling pairs, paced each other down the long, wide, grass-lined
street, its fine homes agleam with a rich, complaisant materiality.

"Oh!" exclaimed Aileen, all at once, seeing the vigorous, forceful
men, the handsome matrons, and young women and boys, the nodding
and the bowing, feeling a touch of the romance and wonder of it
all. "I should like to live in Chicago. I believe it's nicer
than Philadelphia."

Cowperwood, who had fallen so low there, despite his immense
capacity, set his teeth in two even rows. His handsome mustache
seemed at this moment to have an especially defiant curl. The
pair he was driving was physically perfect, lean and nervous, with
spoiled, petted faces. He could not endure poor horse-flesh. He
drove as only a horse-lover can, his body bolt upright, his own
energy and temperament animating his animals. Aileen sat beside
him, very proud, consciously erect.

"Isn't she beautiful?" some of the women observed, as they passed,
going north. "What a stunning young woman!" thought or said the
men.