Chapter XVII

           ThedaysthathadbeenpassingbroughtFrankCowperwoodandAileenButlersomewhatclosertogetherinspirit.Becauseofthepressureofhisgrowingaffairshehadnotpaidsomuchattentiontoherashemighthave,buthehadseenheroftenthispastyear.Shewasnownineteenandhadgrownintosomesubtlethoughtsofherown.Foronething,shewasbeginningtoseethedifferencebetweengoodtasteandbadtasteinhousesandfurnishings.

           "Papa,whydowestayinthisoldbarn?"sheaskedherfatheroneeveningatdinner,whentheusualfamilygroupwasseatedatthetable.

           "What’sthematterwiththishouse,I’dliketoknow?"demandedButler,whowasdrawnupclosetothetable,hisnapkintuckedcomfortablyunderhischin,forheinsistedonthiswhencompanywasnotpresent."Idon’tseeanythingthematterwiththishouse.YourmotherandImanagetoliveinitwellenough."

           "Oh,it’sterrible,papa.Youknowit,"supplementedNorah,whowasseventeenandquiteasbrightashersister,thoughalittlelessexperienced."Everybodysaysso.Lookatallthenicehousesthatarebeingbuilteverywhereabouthere."

           "Everybody!Everybody!Whois‘everybody,’I’dliketoknow?"demandedButler,withthefaintesttouchofcholerandmuchhumor."I’msomebody,andIlikeit.Thosethatdon’tlikeitdon’thavetoliveinit.

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