"Am I all right?" she queried, smartly, but with a sense of
self-distrust for the moment, and all because of him.

"You're perfect. Couldn't be nicer. Splendid!"

She took heart.

"I wish your friends would think so. You'd better hurry."

He went up-stairs, and she followed, looking first into the
dining-room again. At least that was right. Surely Frank was a
master.

At seven the plop of the feet of carriage-horses was heard, and a
moment later Louis, the butler, was opening the door. Aileen went
down, a little nervous, a little frigid, trying to think of many
pleasant things, and wondering whether she would really succeed
in being entertaining. Cowperwood accompanied her, a very different
person in so far as mood and self-poise were concerned. To himself
his own future was always secure, and that of Aileen's if he wished
to make it so. The arduous, upward-ascending rungs of the social
ladder that were troubling her had no such significance to him.

The dinner, as such simple things go, was a success from what might
be called a managerial and pictorial point of view. Cowperwood,
because of his varied tastes and interests, could discuss railroading
with Mr. Rambaud in a very definite and illuminating way; could
talk architecture with Mr. Lord as a student, for instance, of
rare promise would talk with a master; and with a woman like Mrs.
Addison or Mrs. Rambaud he could suggest or follow appropriate