was fairly bursting with sheer physical vitality. She hummed and
jested and primped and posed. There are some souls that just are,
without previous revision or introspection. The earth with all
its long past was a mere suggestion to Aileen, dimly visualized
if at all. She may have heard that there were once dinosaurs and
flying reptiles, but if so it made no deep impression on her.
Somebody had said, or was saying, that we were descended from
monkeys, which was quite absurd, though it might be true enough.
On the sea the thrashing hills of green water suggested a kind of
immensity and terror, but not the immensity of the poet's heart.
The ship was safe, the captain at table in brass buttons and blue
uniform, eager to be nice to her--told her so. Her faith really,
was in the captain. And there with her, always, was Cowperwood,
looking at this whole, moving spectacle of life with a suspicious,
not apprehensive, but wary eye, and saying nothing about it.

In London letters given them by Addison brought several invitations
to the opera, to dinner, to Goodwood for a weekend, and so on.
Carriages, tallyhoes, cabs for riding were invoked. A week-end
invitation to a houseboat on the Thames was secured. Their English
hosts, looking on all this as a financial adventure, good financial
wisdom, were courteous and civil, nothing more. Aileen was intensely
curious. She noted servants, manners, forms. Immediately she
began to think that America was not good enough, perhaps; it wanted
so many things.

"Now, Aileen, you and I have to live in Chicago for years and
years," commented Cowperwood. "Don't get wild. These people don't
care for Americans, can't you see that? They wouldn't accept us if
we were over here--not yet, anyhow. We're merely passing strangers,