Chapter 43

Between Berenice and Stane there was almost a similarity of temperament. Like her, he was less rugged than Cowperwood and, to a degree, less practical. On the other hand, Stane being proportionately excluded from the practical realm in which Cowperwood shone, was more effectively radiant in that atmosphere which Berenice most enjoyed, that of an aesthetically controlled luxury. His taste and philosophy she absorbed in a few moments on their evening walk, during which Stane talked to her freely of himself. Like Cowperwood, he was inclined to accept and even rejoice in his lot as he found it. He was wealthy. He was, after a fashion, gifted. He was titled.

“But I have done nothing to earn or deserve anything that I have, ” he admitted at one point.

“I can believe that, ” said Berenice, laughing.

“But here I am, ” he went on, pretending to ignore her interruption. “The world is like that, unfair, full of gifts for some and nothing for others.”

“I do agree with you there, ” said Berenice, suddenly serious. “Life seems to be shot through with crazy predestinations, some beautiful and some terrible or shameful or brutal.”

Stane had then gone on to discuss his life. His father, he said, had wanted him to marry the daughter of a friend of his, also an earl. But, as Stane expressed it, there was not enough attraction between them. And later, at Cambridge, he had decided to delay marriage on any terms until he had seen more of the world.

“But the trouble is, ” he said, “I seem to have fallen into the habit of travel. And, in between, there’s London, Paris, Tregasal, and Pryor’s Cove, when it is unoccupied.”

“But what troubles me, ” said Berenice, “is what a lone bachelor can do with all those places.”

“They cater to my principal diversion, which is partying, ” he answered. “There’s a great deal of that here, as you must have seen for yourself. You can hardly escape it. But also I work, you know, sometimes very strenuously.”

“For the pleasure of it? ”

“Yes, I think so. At least, it keeps me in countenance with myself, establishes a balance that I find to be healthy.”

And he went on to develop his pet theory that the significance of a title unaccompanied by personal achievement was little. Besides, the world’s interest was turning to men who worked in the realm of science and economics, and it was economics which most interested him.

“But that’s not what I want to talk about, ” he concluded, “but rather of Tregasal. It’s a little too distant and too bare for ordinary partying, thank goodness, so when I want a real crowd I have to do a little planning. Contrasted with all that goes around London, it’s very different, and I frequently use it as an escape.”

Immediately Berenice sensed that he was pressing for a better understanding between them. It might be best, she thought, to end the matter at once, to make sure here and now that there would be no further development. Yet she resented the necessity for such action in the case of someone whose view of life seemed as broad as her own. She even speculated, looking at Stane as they walked, as to whether, in case she told him of her true relation to Cowperwood, he might not be inclined to let his natural interest dominate and sustain his social courtesies. For, after all, he was now associated with Cowperwood financially and might respect him sufficiently to respect her also.

At the same time, there was this very real attraction toward him. She decided to postpone the conversation for that evening. But the following morning, and shortly after sunrise, it began again when they met for an early breakfast and horseback ride. For he insisted that he was running off to Tregasal not only to get a few days’ rest but also to be able to think clearly concerning some important financial matters which were requiring his attention.

“You see, I have let myself in for a lot of work in connection with your guardian’s underground plans, ” he confided. “Perhaps you may know that he has a very complicated program, for which he seems to think he needs my help. And I am trying to decide whether I can be of any real use to him.” He paused as if waiting to see whether she had anything to say.

But Berenice, jogging close beside him, was strongly determined not to express herself in any way. And so now she said.

“Mr. Cowperwood happens to be my guardian, but his financial goings-on are a mystery to me. I am more interested in the lovely things money can accomplish than I am in how it is made.” She gave him a wavering smile.

Stane checked his horse for a moment, and turning to look at her, exclaimed: “My word, you think precisely as I do! I often wonder, loving beauty as I do, why I bother with practical matters in any form. I am often at war with myself over this point.”

And now once more Berenice began contrasting Stane with her aggressive and ruthless lover. Cowperwood’s financial genius and lust for power were tempered, to a degree, by his love of art and beauty. But Stane’s strongly developed aesthetic sense was dominant, and, besides, he likewise possessed wealth and personality, plus something Cowperwood could never achieve: the world’s acceptance of the significance of a distinguished title. The contrast was intriguing, since so obviously she was making a marked impression on Stane. English nobility as opposed to Frank Cowperwood, American financier and street railway magnate!

Riding under the trees on a dappled gray mare, she tried to think of herself as Lady Stane. They might even have a son, heir to the earldom of Stane. But then, alas, she thought of her mother, the notorious Hattie Starr, of Louisville, and her own left-handed relationship with Cowperwood which might appear as a scandal at any moment. For there was Aileen, and possibly Cowperwood’s anger and subsequent antagonism, which, considering his genius for intrigue and revenge, could take any form. Her previous thrill vanished, mistlike, before the heat of reality. For a moment she fairly froze because of the complications of her dilemma, but a second later she was partly soothed by Stane saying:

“Will you let me say that you are as brilliant and understanding as you are beautiful? ”

And despite her saddened mood, Berenice waved a hand gayly in response.

“Why not? Would you expect me to reject anything I do not deserve? ”

Stane was still more intrigued, and so moved to think that the relationship between her and Cowperwood might be quite normal. For the man must be all of fifty-five or sixty. And Berenice looked to be no more than eighteen or nineteen. Perhaps she was an illegitimate daughter. On the other hand, was it not possible that actually, considering her youth and beauty, Cowperwood was hoping to intrigue her by gifts and attentions showered on her mother and herself? For in studying Mrs. Carter, Stane had sensed something he could not easily explain. Obviously, she was the girl’s mother, since Berenice resembled her so closely. He was puzzled. But now he wanted to take her to Tregasal, and meditating on how to do this, he said:

“One thing I must congratulate you on, Miss Fleming, and that is your possession of such a brilliant guardian. I find him an exceedingly gifted person.”

“Yes, he is, ” she said. “And it’s interesting to know that you are co-operating with him, or thinking of doing so.”

“By the way, ” he said, “do you know when he will be returning from America? ”

“The last we heard was that he was in Boston, ” she replied. “And he had a lot of work to do in Chicago and other places. Really, I don’t know when he’s likely to return.”

“When he does, perhaps I shall have the pleasure of entertaining you all together, ” said Stane. “But there’s still Tregasal, you know. Will that need to wait on Mr. Cowperwood’s return? ”

“Oh, I think so; at least, for three or four more weeks. Mother isn’t feeling well, and her principal desire at the moment is to stay here and rest.”

She smiled reassuringly at him while feeling at the same time that once Cowperwood returned, or she had time to write or cable him, the thing might be arranged. Personally, she would like nothing better than to accept this invitation. And a friendship here, with Cowperwood’s approval if not his presence, might further his affairs in connection with Stane. She would write Cowperwood at once.

“But after three or four weeks, do you think it will be possible? ” asked Stane.

“I am quite sure of it. And nothing would give us all greater pleasure, I assure you.”

And Stane accepted the mixed offer with the best grace in the world. For, plainly, this young American beauty did not need him or Tregasal or his titled connections. She was a person in her own right, and was to be accepted only on her own terms.