The days that had been passing brought Frank Cowperwood and Aileen Butler somewhat closer together in spirit.

Because of the pressure of his growing affairs he had not paid so much attention to her as he might have, but he had seen her often this past year.

She was now nineteen and had grown into some subtle thoughts of her own.

For one thing, she was beginning to see the difference between good taste and bad taste in houses and furnishings.
"Papa, why do we stay in this old barn ?" she asked her father one evening at dinner, when the usual family group was seated at the table.
"What's the matter with this house, I'd like to know ?" demanded Butler, who was drawn up close to the table, his napkin tucked comfortably under his chin, for he insisted on this when company was not present.

"I don't see anything the matter with this house.