They went to the door and he opened it. Outside were Alderson with two other detectives and Mrs. Davis, standing perhaps five feet away.
“Well,” said Cowperwood, commandingly, looking at Alderson.
“There’s a gentleman down-stairs wishes to see the lady,” said Alderson. “It’s her father, I think,” he added quietly.
Cowperwood made way for Aileen, who swept by, furious at the presence of men and this exposure. Her courage had entirely returned. She was angry now to think her father would make a public spectacle of her. Cowperwood started to follow.
“I’d advise you not to go down there right away,” cautioned Alderson, sagely. “That’s her father. Butler’s her name, isn’t it? He don’t want you so much as he wants her.”
Cowperwood nevertheless walked slowly toward the head of the stairs, listening.
“What made you come here, father?” he heard Aileen ask.
Butler’s reply he could not hear, but he was now at ease for he knew how much Butler loved his daughter.
Confronted by her father, Aileen was now attempting to stare defiantly, to look reproachful, but Butler’s deep gray eyes beneath their shaggy brows revealed such a weight of weariness and despair as even she, in her anger and defiance, could not openly flaunt. It was all too sad.
“I never expected to find you in a place like this, daughter,” he said. “I should have thought you would have thought better of yourself.” His voice choked and he stopped.